On The Wings Of An Eagle
by FernandelDeLaFrance
Summary: Near the end of his life, Ezio Auditore, once Mentor of the Assassins, decides to serve his order with his dying breath by retrieving an ancient artefact. To his surprise, it whisks him away to a strange country of magic, where old eagles fly again...
1. Chapter I – Prologue

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the two original works, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

Lengthy disclaimer aside (I felt it was necessary for honesty's sake. I don't think you can really blame me, can you?), a great welcome to this little story of mine! A Familiar of Zero/Assassin's Creed Crossover following the illustrious personage of one Ezio Auditore da Firenze, our beloved Mentor, as he is whisked away from certain death to the world of Halkeginia.

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

...

**On the Wings of an Eagle**

**Chapter I - Prologue**

...

_Pontegana, Ticino, Switzerland – 1525 AD_

Ezio ran. He ran and ran and ran as fast as he possibly could, hoping his pursuers would lose him. The chances for that were slim, unluckily. Ezio was not as fast as he used to be in his youth.

"STOP THAT MAN!" someone yelled behind him.

Ezio couldn't help but smile. Some things, however, never really changed.

The elderly Assassin quickly ran into a quiet side street between two buildings, hoping to get to the main gate of the Pontegana fortress without any trouble. Well, less trouble than he already was in now, after killing the Templar Master in charge of the Ticino fortress. The night and his black armour helped to blend in with the darkness, confusing the castle's guards.

Ezio turned a corner and was suddenly faced the wall of the fortress. He swore violently. A dead end.

He turned around to see his pursuers who had charged after him coming to a slow halt. They were wary of coming any closer after seeing the easy manner in which he had killed several guards and the Master of the fortress himself.

A wise decision, but ultimately useless.

Ezio used their moment of hesitation, throwing a smoke bomb right at their feet. A cloud of black smog exploded at their feet, sending the armed men reeling and coughing, the acrid smoke burning their eyes into uselessness and clogging their lungs.

In another time, long ago, Ezio would have slaughtered all these men in mere moments before continuing his escape. Now, burdened with old age and lacking speed and strength, he could only flee in what he couldn't help but think was a cowardly manner.

Still, he fled by climbing up the fortress wall. Assassins did everything with style, after all.

As he neared on top of the rampart, a helmeted head peeked over its ledge, trying to take a look at the confusion below. One quick grab of the hook blade and the crossbowman was sent tumbling down the side of the wall, screaming in terror. A sickening crunch ended the scream quite suddenly. Ezio was already on top of the rampart, running along it to the nearest watch tower. Another guard tried to stop him, his throat getting slit with a quick twist of the hidden blade before he could scream out a warning, collapsing in a bloody heap.

The guards stationed in the watch room of the tower had been playing a card game as the alarm sounded and just _stared_ at Ezio as he suddenly broke into the room. For a mere moment, guards and Assassin were in a silent standoff.

All that Ezio's pursuers saw and heard a moment later was a sudden explosion and flames licking at the stonework of the watch room's apertures, the bloodcurdling screams of the dead and dying inside making them hesitate for a mere moment.

Hesitation was Ezio's friend. He was already gone when they dared to look into the destroyed guard chamber and its mangled occupants, continuing to run on top of the wall towards his destination on the tower's other side.

Bells started ringing all over the fortress, adding to the cacophony of trampling boots, yelled curses and barked orders. Ezio flitted through the night, grabbing a torch hanging on a wall and throwing it with practiced ease onto the roof of a nearby building below before racing on. The wood easily caught fire. The whinnies of terrified horses echoed piercingly through the night. Panicked screams ensued. "Water!" "Form a bucket line, you _bastardi_, or the whole keep will go up in flames!" "Save the horses! They'll bolt!"

Apparently, he'd picked a stable as his target. Excellent.

Ezio kept pushing the confused guards that were milling about out of his way with quick shoves as he continued on the direct route to his goal. A few guards tried to stop him as they recognized him, but were either silenced by the hidden blade or sent stumbling from the walls by the wicked grab of the hookblade.

_Thank you, Yusuf_, the Florentine Assassin thought warmly. _You keep saving my life after all these years, even here_.

Then Ezio saw his salvation and smiled. The fortress's outermost bastion, a large wall of thick stonework perched over a sheer precipice overseeing a river and the outlying forests, presumably where a large cannon had once stood to bombard approaching foes. Ezio kept running towards its very tip, with guards high at his heels.

"HALT, Assassin!" a loud voice roared.

Standing on the very rampart of the bastion over a drop of a few hundred feet into a river, Ezio nevertheless felt compelled by curiosity to obey. He turned around slowly, knowing that his black eagle-beaked hood would conceal his features from the torches carried by his pursuers. Making him appear even more terrifying and mysterious was just an added bonus.

Ezio came face to face with a large group of guards trying to encircle him on the bastion. The men themselves seemed to be various shades of angry, unsure, terrified and anxious, nervously hefting their swords and pikes. They were led by a man wearing rather fine clothes and a sword sheathed at his side, an arrogant expression on his face. A noble, no doubt.

Ezio couldn't help but be interested. This man had called out to him, knowing full well who, or rather _what_ he was. This should be interesting.

The man looked at him, his face red with fury and his voice quavering angrily. "You killed the Master."

Ezio didn't bother denying it, still standing on the lone rampart and staring, using the opportunity to get his laboured breath back after the exertion of climbing the wall during his flight. An extremely nervous arquebusier hefted his firearm only to have the barrel roughly slapped down by the finely clothed man. The weapon went off with a loud crack of gunpowder, badly startling the guards as a rampart close to Ezio exploded into shards of stone.

"No!" the man hissed angrily at his quivering subordinate as the Assassin watched calmly. "We need him alive! Or at least recover his body!"

Ezio smirked slightly as he realized what the Templar's trouble was. _So _that_ is what he's after_. _How predictable_.

The man turned to the robed Assassin. "I honestly don't care whether you killed the old fart or not," the man sneered. "I thought of doing him in myself, but you beat me to the punch. However, you stole something from this castle that is _not_ yours to keep." He made a wide sweeping motion with one arm, indicating his men. "We have you cornered, and there is no escape except a drop to certain death in the river below, or certain death at the hands of my men!"

A sly smile. "I'm quite willing to let bygones be bygones, though – if you do something for me." He arrogantly held out an open hand, utterly confident in his perceived superiority. "Hand over the Apple _now_, and I will let you live."

Ezio chuckled, a quiet sound that was yet easily heard by the nervous guards. "'_It's not yours to keep_', you said?" He spoke in a quiet, terrifying voice that still held distinct amusement. "It is _mine_ by right of conquest. I fought your Master for it and I won, taking it from his dead hands as his blood pooled on the floor of his chambers."

A wicked grin became visible under his hood, unnerving the already rattled guards. "If you want it returned, you should be prepared to take the same risks. It's only fair, wouldn't you agree?"

The man drew his sword, a look of murder in his eyes. "I _will_ fight you for it, Assassin. Make no mistake. And then I will hunt down the rest of your ilk, your children, your family, your friends and _destroy_ them and everything else you hold dear."

"Are you, now? Then what exactly are you waiting for? I could probably find me a woman or two to give me company in the time you prattle on," Ezio taunted. "The Templars are rather known for making asinine speeches instead of fighting, as real men ought to! Or at least that's what your mother said when I visited her last night, _cane_!"

The crude but simple taunt worked well. Far too well. The Templar roared in anger and stormed towards Ezio at a speed that surprised the old Assassin, expecting the noble to be far slower and out of shape. The man leapt at him with his sword set to stab Ezio through the chest, leaving the Florentine little space to dodge.

The sounds of blades tearing flesh were heard in the sudden silence. Ezio's breath left him in a sudden gasp of pain as he registered the sword stabbed through his side – he had only been able to move a few centimetres to the side before metal hit flesh. Not far enough. Age had slowed down his reflexes too much.

The Templar stared with fury at Ezio, his throat making gargling sounds as he tried to speak. The hidden blade spearing his throat made it impossible, his blood flowing freely over Ezio's gauntleted hand.

Ezio smiled wanly. "Looks like we'll die together, then." He moved the blade sideways, blood spurting forth in a wide arc as the Templar was half decapitated, killing him instantly. "_Requiescat en pace_."

And then both toppled from the ramparts, Ezio falling backwards into darkness and hoping that his faith would be enough to save him.

...

In another world, similar to the one Ezio knew and yet different, a young girl was kneeling in front of an altar, praying with her hands folded and her eyes closed. She was considered nobility, chosen amongst her people for her gifts and power, unafraid to rule and fight with the power that God, His Founder and His Saints had granted her.

But she was still young. And she was afraid.

...

Ezio stumbled through the dark woods, water dripping from his soaked robes. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. He'd fallen into a river from a sheer drop of several hundred feet, survived, and then dragged himself through the forest, unseen and unhindered by any pursuers. He'd done it.

Behind him, Pontegana burned, the fortress a flaming torch in the otherwise dark night.

Ezio tripped on a low branch in the darkness, his mind going blank for a moment as coughs shook him, loud racking sounds that couldn't possibly be healthy. When Ezio took a look at his gauntleted hand in the moonlight, he saw that the leather and armour had been stained by a dark black liquid, one that Ezio knew would have been dark red if he'd seen it by the light of day.

Well, perhaps he had escaped unhindered. Though evidently not uninjured.

Ezio tried to wipe his hand clean on his robes, but it proved futile – the dark robes and armour of the ancient Mentor of the Hashishim were already stained with blood. Lightheaded, Ezio realized that the Templar had managed to drive his sword into a small unprotected gap in the side of the indestructible armour – whether by luck or design, he couldn't tell.

The old Assassin cursed his arrogance as he continued to walk slowly through the dark woods. He'd been a fool to take up the Templar's challenge. Why didn't he just jump off the cliff in the confusion and flee, like he originally planned to? Why didn't he!

_Pride_, he realized with sudden clarity.

He snorted humourlessly. Ezio thought he'd lost that a long time ago. How foolish of him.

After a while – Ezio couldn't tell how long, he simply dragged himself through the dark forest, his mind clouded by pain and blood loss – he reached the clearing where he'd tethered his horse to a tree. A quick use of his gifts to scan the environs came up with nothing but the horse's silhouette. He hadn't been followed.

He looked through the trees behind him, and saw the flickering torch in the dark landscape that Pontegana was. He smirked, finding a little humour where none ought to be. Presumably, the Templars were still busy dousing their fortress. Even the rain that was starting to fall now wouldn't help them to save it from the raging inferno it had been engulfed in.

He continued on his staggering way through the clearing. The horse, borrowed from a friend in Milano and tethered to a tree, whinnied softly in fear as it smelled the blood on his robes. Ezio blacked out for a moment as he approached, managed to catch himself around the horse's neck before he crashed to the ground. He patted the horse's neck slowly as it threatened to bolt in a panic. "Shh, _amica_, it's alright, we're safe, everything is fine..."

Ezio honestly had no idea why he was trying to talk to a horse. Perhaps he was trying to reassure himself?

...No matter. It worked; the scared animal was calming down. Ezio patted the horse's head weakly once more before taking stock.

He examined his robes and armour. They were soaked with blood, the water of the river and the rain doing nothing to wash out the dark fluid. _And most of it still isn't mine_, Ezio thought with another touch of dark humour. _Mario would have approved_.

Another bout of pain from his wound lanced through his side, and Ezio grasped his open wound, repressing a scream. He collapsed bonelessly against the tree trunk he'd tethered the horse to, his mind nearly blacking out as he crashed into an undignified heap of dark robes and even darker blood.

He tried to think to think of other things, anything to take his mind off the pain he felt. Faces and voices swam through his mind, some alive, some dead, some of them family, others lovers, all of them offering comfort.

Images of a mansion in long forgotten times. Laughter, smiles, and feathers.

_Papa... __Mama... Federico... Pettrucchio... Claudia..._

Other images. Bonfires over canals, the skyline of an Italian city, the walls of an old fortress.

_Christina... Rosa... Caterina..._

Vineyards, the sun shining on the hills.  
A smiling woman picking flowers for the dinner table, an old man teaching his son to climb the side of his pastel-white mansion as both laugh and joke.  
A girl giggling as her mother puts a spare flower in her hair, both amused by the antics of the men in their life.

_Sofía... Flavia... Marcello..._

The pain subsided slowly, now only a dull ache instead of the lancing suffering that it was before. Ezio noticed that his hand was clenched over his wounded side tightly, blood still spilling forth between closed fingers. His body was shaken by spasms, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.

Again, he looked at the blood on his hands. Could he treat this injury? He'd done it before, after all, but only on others... and even then, not all had survived. Could he really treat a wound this deep?

...He'd try, he'd always try, he'd never give up, but what was _the point?_

Something nudged his cowl and he felt the huff of a warm breath on his face. Ezio looked up weakly. The horse had approached carefully, nudging his own cowled head hesitantly with its wet nose.

With a draining effort, Ezio's hidden blade shot out of its bracer, two quick slashes severing the bridle and straps of the saddle, the leathery contraption falling to the ground with a heavy thud. The blade retracted, and the horse shook its head, cantering once or twice, unsure.

Ezio used his now free hand to pat the horse's head affectionately. "Go now, _mía amica_," the old man whispered. "I am sorry for never learning your name, but you have my thanks. Return to your master in Milano. I have no more need for you, and you no longer have need for me."

_No one does, now. _

Ezio's weakening hand dropped, and he closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. A moment later, he felt something nudging his cowl again, hearing a quiet whinny as warm, damp breath engulfed him, keeping the growing cold at bay.

He smiled warmly. "Not abandoning me, are you? Benedetto really is a genius. I'll have to thank him for breeding such faithful companions..."

Ezio closed his eyes, relaxing and listening to the falling rain. _Just rest for a moment..._

His eyes snapped open as he heard a low buzzing sound, repeating itself continuously, quiet but insistent. _I nearly forgot about that thing..._

Ezio fumbled inside a pouch on his belt, retrieving the object he'd stormed the Templar fortress for. The object he'd killed and been killed for, a fact he could now resignedly accept.

He hefted the large round object in his hand, its weight heavy and reassuring. Lights played along the veins in its surface, pulsing like a beating heart, changing colour every other moment, the only light in the darkness of the night. An Apple of Eden, saved from the clutches of greedy Templars.

As his vision began to swim and darken, Ezio watched the Apple, fascinated as the colours on its surface began to change at even quicker intervals; changing fast, fast, fast–

And then flashing brightly _once_.

...

Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière was very, _very_ worried.

It was bad enough that nearly all the students of her year were assembled in the courtyard of the Academy. Louise _hated_ social gatherings of any kind. She loathed them with an absolute passion that bordered on the fanatical, always seeking excuses when her presence was required at some official function or another.

Unfortunately, as a member of the country's nobility and the third child of a duke, there was always some duty she was required to fulfil. Louise hated to see the looks everyone gave her when she entered the room, whispering behind held hands when they thought she couldn't hear. They didn't know, but Louise had very sharp hearing. For once, that wasn't a good thing.

Yet, for once, she wouldn't have minded being at this particular 'social' event she was attending. Everybody's attention was on the student standing in the middle of the courtyard, five steps in front of a complicated circle containing carefully measured geometric shapes and bordered by beautiful runic symbols carved into the ground at regular intervals. Louise checked them with a critical eye – they were the best that this particular student could muster, which was satisfactory at best. Still, as roughly drawn and simple as they were, they did their intended job well.

The blond student continued chanting, perspiration on the bare chest showing through his unbuttoned shirt as his lips moved frantically to pronounce the ancient tongue. He was moving his rose wand in complicated loops and whirls, releasing waves of power into the air, some of them nearly visible to the naked eye as flashes of multicoloured light.

He finished the incantation with a dramatic flourish of his wand, crying out the last syllable with gusto as he pointed at his summoning circle. Louise rolled her eyes. Guiche de Gramont was such a first-rate actor, if anyone appreciated completely over-the-top theatrics. She sure didn't. But try as she might, she found no fault in his performance of the summoning ritual.

There was a flash of light and a creature appeared in the centre of the circle. Louise just goggled at it, dumbfounded.

...What kind of person summoned a _mole_ as their companion for life, for goodness's sake?

Guiche himself seemed delighted, however. "A mole!" he called out with melodramatic tears of joy in his eyes. Louise honestly couldn't tell whether they were genuine or part of his extravagant act, and she had long ago given up trying to find out. "Oh, you beautiful beast, called forth from the bosom of the gracious Earth to accompany me! The greatest and most loyal friend an Earth mage of my talent could have! Come to me, proud beast! I shall name you a name most worthy of your beauty and strength!"

Louise dropped behind a thick gaggle of enthralled schoolgirls so they wouldn't see her snickering. She only surfaced a few moments later (when her face had stopped twitching rampantly from repressed snorts of laughter) to see the newly christened mole 'Verdandi' and its proud master returning to the assembled student, Guiche preening all the while and enjoying the attentions of his both male and female admirers.

_Smug jerk. _

As more students were called forward to draw their circles and perform their own summonings, Louise felt dread creep up her spine. She saw Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst summon a red salamander with flames dancing along its hide, the busty redhead throwing her rival a victorious look. Louise scowled in response.

She watched as Tabitha, ever the silent bookworm, drew a picture-perfect summoning circle and called forth an honest-to-God _dragon_ to her side, the winged lizard dwarfing the small girl as it nuzzled its new master's head affectionately with its elongated head. The girl patted its head, her eyes stuck to the book that she had immediately returned to reading after she had accepted her familiar.

Studious Reynald, as tall and thin as always in his student uniform and stoically dignified, contracted a silvery wolf. Loud, boisterous Gimli made a hawk appear in a bright flash of light, the bird settling on his arm and shrieking piercingly. Malicorne called forth a large bear that resembled him eerily in stature – stocky with lots of padding – the two hitting it off immediately as the youth offered the large beast a treat.

With each summoning, the feeling of dread in Louise's stomach became heavier and heavier. She watched the newly minted masters with their familiars dutifully at their side, the young girl fearing and dreading the moment when Professor Colbert would work his way down the list he held in his hands–

"Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière!"

Speak of the Devil and he appears, laughing and dancing in mockery of the fools who dare summon him...

The balding teacher looked up from the class list, peering over the top of his spectacles at Louise, who had frozen in place with fear. The whole courtyard had suddenly fallen silent.

"Mademoiselle de la Vallière?" Colbert repeated gently.

Louise snapped out it. "Y-yes?" she said – no, _squeaked_, her voice sounding far higher than she ever thought possible. _How undignified._

"It's your turn, mademoiselle," Professor Colbert said once more, smiling reassuringly at her. "You can do it, young lady, I'm sure of it."

Louise took a moment to compose herself, then nodded once and stepped forward. She dimly noted as she walked to the centre of the courtyard that the students were arranged in a half-circle around the summoner, facing the tested student's back. According to the teachers, this was to ensure that the summoner wouldn't be distracted by their peers during the ceremony. A simple, logical reason that everyone accepted without further doubt.

Louise knew better: the Springtime Summoning Ritual was _dangerous_. Incorrectly drawn or smudged lines of chalk, a faulty sequence or syntax of the runes bordering the circle, the sloppy drawing of the summoning circle or the other necessary geometric shapes in the summoning array – there were a myriad of ways in which the ritual could go horribly wrong, and Louise was confident she knew nearly all of them because of the ludicrous amount of time she spent in the library, hoping that it would help her improve her chances of succeeding.

Of course, the descriptions of possible mistakes to make only served to rattle her already frayed nerves even more.

If the summoning backfired, the least that would happen was that a far less powerful creature would be summoned. In the worst case scenario, the summoning circle would explode, releasing large amounts of stray magic and killing everyone in the blast radius.

Louise could accept a weaker summons, as long as she summoned _anything_ at all. She needed proof that she was a real mage, that she deserved the title of nobility that her birth had granted her. She needed that confirmation, desperately so.

Finally, she reached the centre of the courtyard, groping with shivering fingers for the chalk in the pocket of her school uniform. When her clammy fingers found it, she took a deep breath and began to draw slowly and carefully.

"_Why does she even bother?_" she heard a voice mutter in annoyance. Whispers started up, and Louise heard them all.

"_It's Louise the Zero, innit?_" a drawling voice that she remembered hearing in one of her classes. "_The one that always blows stuff up no matter what she tries to do? Bloody hell, why is even here, then?_"

"_A failure... Honestly, you'd have expected her to have inherited _some_ of her mother's talent, there's enough of it to go around..._"

"_Why did they allow her to take part in the Ritual in the first place?_" a girl whispered worriedly. "_What if she blows up the school?_"

"SILENCE!" Colbert roared.

Louise stilled. She'd rarely heard her teacher so furious before. His glare could have lit candles at twenty paces, and he seemed seriously tempted to set someone on fire, simply to underline his point.

"This colleague of yours had the decency to show respect during your ceremonies! Don't make me force you to behave like adults during hers, instead of the bickering children I see now! Act with the nobility that your station demands!"

The whole courtyard had fallen uncomfortably silent, and Louise quietly thanked the Professor with all her heart as she resumed drawing. He'd always been supportive of her, even when the other teachers despaired or gave up in frustration after her nth attempt to conjure, transfigure, or manipulate matter and the elements ended in abject failure. He'd spent hours in the library with her, patiently pointing out mistakes, loaning her books from his personal library that she devoured in record time. Always showing support even as she doubted herself.

If Louise hadn't already been so determined to succeed during the summoning ritual, she would have been after Colbert's constant encouragement. She wouldn't want to disappoint him.

She knelt down, smelling fresh earth and grass, burning ash from the previously destroyed summoning circles adding a sharp smell that stung her nose.

Louise's hand steadied as she carefully drew a perfect circle, two interlocking pentagrams in its middle following a mere moment later. In her best calligraphy, she added runes and smaller circles around the central array, slowly and methodically drawing out the most complex summoning circle drawn so far.

That was what distinguished her from the other students of magic at the Academy. Pure knowledge. Her practical ability in the arts of magic, be it conjuration, construction, transfiguration or elemental manipulation was nil. Everything just exploded whenever she attempted to use her power. Louise had managed to pass her schooling at the Academy thanks to the fact that she knew every single bit of magical theory a student her age could conceivably know , outstripping her peers in knowledge and theory of magic.

However, you couldn't progress through the Academy on force of knowledge alone – otherwise any commoner would be able to get in and pass the exams. And _that_ would certainly not do. No, this was the true purpose of the Springtime Summoning Ritual: to see if the students were worthy and capable of performing magic. Even with minimal preparation and mediocre talent, a student with magical ability could pass the test, being accepted into the ranks of Tristain's nobility.

But Louise wouldn't simply need _minimal_ preparation. Oh no. If she failed this exam, Colbert's disappointment would be the least of her problems. Expulsion from the Academy, losing her noble rank, and exile from her family and ancestral home were far more than likely. Louise's mother was a strict matriarch.

A few minutes after double- and triple-checking the central array of her summoning circle and all the additional circles, safeguards and runes she'd added to the original design (her summoning circle was easily the largest and most detailed of those drawn so far), Louise stood up, brushing grass off her uniform.

Five steps backwards, close eyes, deep breath.

And with a flourish of her wand, she started chanting.

"_Toi, créature de pouvoir et de magie, à travers le temps et l'espace je t'appelle_."

Immediately, she felt soothed, her worries slowly slipping away. There was something about the ancient language – whenever Louise spoke it, she felt safer, her worries disappearing.

In a way, her troubles felt... ephemeral. Unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Speaking the Founder's Tongue felt liberating, in a way, as if she was part of something greater than herself. It made her feel part of a greater whole, something that she had always been denied by her peers.

Magic, its _power_, simply felt exhilarating.

"_Toi, créature qui cherche le sens de ton existence, je t'appelle._"

It was ironic. Channelling magic, letting it flow through her veins and expelling it was absolutely no trouble at all. This was the main reason that Professor Colbert was still convinced that Louise was capable of using magic.

Making the magic do what she wanted, though – now _that_ was a different matter altogether. Everything she attempted resulted in explosions of varying sizes, as frustrating as it was.

But Louise didn't let that bother her, not right now. Now, she was concentrating on nothing but moving her wand in the required patterns, enunciating the ancient language as clearly as she could. Flickers of colour were at the edge of her vision.

"_Toi, créature qui me protégera, je t'appelle_."

Yes. A protector; that was what she was looking for. Familiars were their master's guards, protecting them from harm. She wanted something to protect her for once. A beast that was proud, strong, and powerful. That would be nice.

She continued chanting, nearing the end of her incantation. She felt the power building up within herself, straining to be released, singing to her. Louise was happy to oblige.

"_Viens, créature. Je te donnerais force, je te donnerais pouvoir, je te donnerais une cause. __Je t'appelle_."

She slashed her wand across in a final gesture, pointing it square at the summoning circle.

"_Créature! Apparaît!_"

A streak of magic, probably the most powerful she had ever cast, flowed from the tip of her wand to the summoning circle. Louise watched with bated breath as the magic sunk into the circle's central array, blood-red colour flooding the runes, spreading out and seeping into every line she'd drawn, growing ever brighter–

And then fading until they returned to their original chalky red. No creature appeared.

Louise's raised hand dropped limply to her side. "No..." she whispered.

The courtyard was silent for a moment before cloaks rustled, the students looking at each other awkwardly, perhaps even a little relieved at the lack of explosion. Some looked inordinately smug, mouthing ' I told you so' to their friends. Professor Colbert himself stepped forward, putting a hand on Louise's shoulder. "Mademoiselle de la Vallière..."

"No, no, no…" Louise was still looking at the unresponsive circle, still disbelieving, her voice getting frantic. "Please, not like this..."

"Mademoiselle de la Vallière, you've had your turn," Colbert said heavily. "I'm afraid you've failed the Springtime Summoning Ritual."

Louise's eyes snapped to stare at him in undisguised horror as the students started muttering. "Please, Professor!" she begged. "Let me try it one more time! Please, Professor, I beg of you!"

Colbert shook his head, becoming grave. "That's impossible, Mademoiselle. The Ritual is exactly that, a rite of passage. I cannot in good conscience allow you to attempt it again. It would be a dishonour to His Name, His Founder and His Saints."

His stern gaze softened when he saw Louise's eyes brim with tears. "I cannot change the rules set down by Brimir himself all those centuries ago, child," he spoke quietly. "Even if I wanted to, I just _can't_."

Louise hung her head. She was already small of stature, so it was impossible for the taller teacher to see her eyes. She was shaking uncontrollably, and Colbert feared she was going to break down right in front of her classmates, all of whom were throwing her looks of pity. They may have mocked her talent, but exile from their family and the nobility... They were still young and innocent. Most of them wouldn't wish such a cruel fate on their worst enemy. But there were exceptions, those who were watching her breakdown with cold disdain, muttering quietly about the dishonour the youngest Vallière had brought upon the family. Colbert remembered their faces for later.

After a moment, though, he realized that Louise wasn't crying. She was laughing. A bitter, dark laugh that made his hair stand on end, a laugh that grew in volume until it was clearly hysterical and perhaps even demented, unnerving everyone around her.

A moment later, the chuckles died down to something that resembled sobs, Louise holding the front of Colbert's robes until she stopped. He kept his hand on her shoulder, not really knowing what else to do.

"That's it, then?" Louise asked quietly, her voice hollow. She still refused to look up. "Is this it?"

Colbert sighed dejectedly. "I guess s–"

"Hey!" a student called out suddenly. The student pointed at the summoning circle frantically, eyes wide. "What the hell is happening? Look at the circle!"

Colbert's head snapped around, taking in the summoning circle Louise had drawn intently, eyes widening as he saw the symbols suddenly glowing, the runes and lines glowing increasingly bright. Energy crackled in the air of the courtyard like St. Elmo's Fire, bright snaps of magic dancing in the corner of his eye.

_God and His Saints_, the old teacher thought, eyes widening, _that can't be good_.

"STEP BACK!" he called out as his old instincts and training took over, throwing Louise behind him and brandishing his staff. "TAKE COVER! It's a delayed reaction!"

The absolute terror in their teacher's voice made the semi-circle break apart, the students falling over themselves in their desperate efforts to get away. Colbert waved his staff in complicated patterns for a shielding spell while Louise stared dumbly as the chalk lines she'd drawn began to glow golden and flickered with colours that changed fast, fast, fast–

And then lightning, bright and searing, hit the courtyard, right at the centre of Louise's summoning circle.

...

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (May 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	2. Chapter II – Broken Wings

DO NOTE that this story is NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the two original works, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

If you feel the need to do so, ignore that lengthy disclaimer above - it's a paranoid habit of mine. In any case, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the second chapter of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_. The response I've had from you, the readers, to the first chapter, was quite overwhelming, really. It certainly surprised me that quite a few people read it in such a short period of time, giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach. Thank you for that. I decided to publish the second chapter a bit earlier than usual - one, because I already had finished writing it, and two, because I hope to appease those readers that seem to employ the terrifying Cliffhanger Commandos. My friends would undoubtedly complain about having to clean up the mess if I ever was brutally murdered over leaving my cliffhangers unresolved.

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

...

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter II - Broken Wings**

...

Ezio blinked.

This was strange. He was standing in plane of white nothingness, devoid of anyone and anything. It was simply blank, like one of Leonardo's pristine canvases before he would begin sketching and drawing. Utterly empty.

_...Where am I?_

Ezio took a tentative step forward, feeling solid ground underneath him that he couldn't see. And took another when he realized that he wasn't going to suddenly fall into blank nothingness. Ezio was nervous – he was used to see _exactly_ where he put his hands and feet when climbing, jumping and falling. Being unable to see any ground made him extremely uncomfortable.

_...Is this the afterlife?_

But that made no sense, he reasoned. There was no afterlife. The teachings that his mother had admired so – all lies, illusions made up by tricked men following keepers of ancient artefacts. There was no afterlife, no great cosmic power guiding the hands of men.

_Only teachings left behind by dead men in riddles and books._

Ezio realized that he was wearing the black robes and Altair's armour, the polished metal black as night. Curiously, they weren't stained with blood. His weapons were in their allotted sheathes, pristine, as if they had never been used. His injuries had disappeared as well, the pain in his side gone.

_Intriguing. _

Ezio turned around, trying to see through the white landscape surrounding him. "Hello?" he called out loudly, his voice echoing strangely. "Can _anyone_ hear me?"

He heard an odd sound, a muted susurrus that nagged at his ears, increasing in intensity from moment to moment. Ezio turned around frantically, unable to find its source, gritting his teeth.

"My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze, former Grand Mentor of the Assassins!" he bellowed loudly, activating his heightened senses out of pure fury. "I _demand_ you show yourself!"

All of a sudden the muted whisperings came to a stop, as if hushing at his outburst.

And then the blank landscape _changed_.

Proud buildings he'd never seen before, ancient ruins lying decayed at the bottom of the ocean.  
A desert, scorching him with its blasting winds, sand swirling in patterns that only Bedouins could understand.  
A jungle, lush and colourful with trees taller than Florence's cathedrals and vines intertwining between them until they reached a green canopy where the sun shone through.  
A forest, the hills green as he smelt pines and moss, puddles of rain remaining as storm clouds disappeared.  
Tall spires, as beautiful and transparent as glass made by Venetian craftsmen, standing serenely as they pointed to the sky.  
High mountains, a storm raging on a rugged pass as snowflakes blew past him, peaks that no man could reach stunning in their cold and unassailable beauty.

Each image lasted no more than an instant before being replaced by another. Ezio watched, fascinated, as more and more landscapes flashed past his mind. Some he knew, some he'd heard of, and some he'd never seen before.

No, 'image' was the wrong word for this spectacle – Ezio felt as if he was actually standing in these breathtaking landscapes, feeling the heat and cold, smelling the plants and tasting the snowflakes on his tongue. It was just so... _real_.

And then he suddenly stood in a dark nothingness. Planets and stars appeared, the stars littering the dark sky, the coloured orbs moving slowly, portentously in their assigned ellipses. Ezio just watched, fascinated.

_Well, it does look like Copernicus was right after all... Leonardo would be pleased. _

He took another step forwards, entranced by the display of the heavenly bodies.

"_Greetings, Prophet_."

He turned around faster than he had in years, coming face-to-face with a heavenly figure wearing ancient robes, a golden helmet set around blazing eyes and a gentle smile, her beauty as ethereal as the day he first saw her.

Ezio knew this face well. He'd never forgotten it. "Minerva," he breathed out.

She nodded gracefully, carefully composed. "_I have to admit that this meeting is... unexpected_," she spoke, her voice distorted and wavering. "_I thought you had already fulfilled your duty_."

Ezio didn't ask the goddess what she meant. He had already asked questions once, and she had ordered him to be silent, denying him answers with harsh finality. He was sure that she'd do it again without a second thought.

"_Truly unexpected_," Minerva said quietly, her figure flickering with light.

Ezio's irrepressible nature broke through and he smirked. "Am I too unpredictable even for the gods?"

"_Not gods_," the robed figure corrected. "_Just... the Ones Who Came Before, as mortal and fallible as your race_."

He scoffed in disbelief. "So far, I'm not exactly convinced of your inferiority, Minerva. Everything I have seen of your temples, everything I have found of your legacy... it convinces me otherwise."

She fixed him with a steely stare that reminded him of the legends of old, of the Greek Athena, the legendary goddess of wisdom and war, terrifying in her insight and beauty. "_We _were_ fallible. We _were_ mortal. We sought to circumvent death, to extend our lives. And we achieved that goal, living for centuries in this land with your ancestors as our servants._"

The scenery around them changed and Ezio saw a city of tall spires collapsing and burning, heard screams of despair that ended harshly and suddenly, a planet, its surface lined with veins of fire, appearing in the darkness of space. "_And still we were blown away like ashes on the wind, while your people survived our mistakes._"

Ezio remained silent. He knew all this already.

Minerva's eyes never left him, and again he felt as if his soul was being examined, felt the need to fall to his knees and offer his services and fealty, swear loyalty–

He ruthlessly squashed that urge. _An Assassin answers to no one._

"_Good_," Minerva murmured, a smile playing on her lips. "_You're strong, far stronger than your weak-willed ancestors that followed us without questioning our motives, without doubting our intentions, without realizing our faults. Men like you made your race strong, made it survive against all odds in dark times_."

Ezio just stared defiantly at her, and her smile widened. "_There is a reason we made you our Prophet. Now_," she held out a hand, her gaze once more growing stern, "_give me the artefact in your possession_."

"What artefact? I don't have it with m–" Ezio felt at his belt, where the heavy weight of the Apple of Eden in its pouch hung. He opened it incredulously, feeling the golden orb in his hand. He could have sworn it hadn't been there moments ago.

He looked at an expectant Minerva and frowned, but held out the ancient artefact anyway. The One Who Came Before held her hand over it, a string of light connecting the two.

Minerva's frown cleared up after a moment of contemplation into sudden understanding. "_Ah_." Her eyes focused on Ezio, sharp and terrifying. "_It seems that your duties are not quite finished, Prophet_."

Ezio stared at her, not understanding. "My duties? ...I am _dead_, Minerva. Dead and dying."

"_Dead in one world_..." Minerva whispered. She suddenly disappeared in a flicker, the planets dissolving and the stars becoming streaks of light. Ezio looked around frantically as he felt the darkness dissolving like water before he was engulfed in a flash of light.

"_...but not in the other_."

...

The strike of lightning rocked the whole courtyard and Colbert could have sworn later that he heard the ancient walls of the Academy sing out, imbued as they were with centuries of enchantments. A thick cloud of dust had sprung up from the force that struck the summoning circle, cloaking the whole courtyard in ash and dirt. Colbert could hear the terrified screams of his students as they were robbed of their sight.

He gritted his teeth, repressing memories that threatened to cripple him and swung his staff in a wide arc, snarling out the ancient tongue.

A gust of powerful wind rushed through the courtyard, carrying the dust to the heavens, revealing a mass of bedraggled students that had fallen over themselves to get away from the circle in the yard's centre, some groups getting furiously entangled in their haste to get away and now unable to get up. In any other situation, the cursing students and the awkward moment as girls and boys disentangled themselves with excuses and blushes would have amused Colbert.

But right now he was angry. He rounded on Louise, lying behind him on the ground where he'd thrown her to protect her from whatever erratic reaction her magic had caused. The girl looked shell-shocked, gaping at the chaos around her. "Mademoiselle de la Vallière," he snapped, making her jump. "Would you care to explain what in the Founder's name you have just done?"

"I have no idea!" she exclaimed desperately, getting to her feet. "The circle wasn't supposed to work like that, I swear! You went over the design yourself, remember? This shouldn't have happened, Professor!"

"Oh, shut your trap, Vallière!" a pudgy student bellowed as he got to his feet, shooting her an angry glare. "Isn't there anything you can do without making something else explode? Even with a perfect summoning circle, you nearly blew us all back to the Homeland!"

"Shut up already, Malicorne!" Louise shot back, her anger flaring. "Suck it up like the man you're supposed to be, instead of complaining like a whining child!"

"Whether he complains or not, Malicorne has a valid point!" Guiche, who'd 'accidentally' fallen on top of one of his female admirers, graciously helped the blushing girl to her feet before accusingly pointing his rose wand at Louise. "Your incompetence will be the doom of us all, Vallière! When are you going to stop endangering your classmates and dishonour your family name with your failures?"

"An incompetent fop who is more interested in chasing skirts than furthering his education should _not_ talk to me about honour, Gramont!" Louise hissed, her face red with anger.

"At least I'm competent enough to contract a summons, while you even failed _that_ simple task!"

"QUIET!"

Colbert glared at his students, stalking into their midst with his staff raised, his eyes glinting with cold fury. They stepped back in fear as he approached, some of them nearly falling back down into the dirt after just dusting themselves off.

The Professor formerly known as the Flame Snake looked each student in the eye, terrifying them into staying silent. "I will _not_ tolerate useless bickering. You are supposed to be _nobles_ – people who will carry great responsibility in this country. Senseless quarrels and insults solve _nothing_, so you will refrain from it in my presence. Do I make myself _clear_, ladies and gentlemen?"

After a round of terrified nods and whimpered 'yessirs', the teacher whirled to face Louise, addressing her in a far calmer manner. "Now, can _anyone_ tell me what the hell just happened, or is this as incomprehensible to you as it is to me?"

Louise's shoulders slumped as Colbert fixed her with a cold stare. Even if he had supported her all those years, she knew that he wouldn't let accidental harm to her students slide. She looked at her feet, shamefaced. "Professor," she began, "I have honestly no idea–"

"What in the Founder's name..." she heard Colbert mutter, students gasping in shock and surprise an instant later. She peeked up at him, but he was no longer looking at her. His eyes were narrowed, staring intently past her shoulder at something behind her. She turned around and stared as well, gobsmacked.

The summoning circle that she'd carved, that she thought was faulty was still there – no, it had grown bigger with runes, symbols and lines that she hadn't drawn, stretching out in a wider radius than she had even thought was possible with the art of summoning. The symbols were glowing with a blinding gold that was reflecting the sun in the sky with a bright, fiery sheen. But that wasn't really what had caught Louise's eye.

A man was kneeling at the very centre of the summoning circle, clad in black robes and a black half-cape that pooled around his feet, his face concealed by a hood of the same colour. The newcomer was not moving, but seemed to be watching them carefully, his eyes hidden by the strange beaked design of his hood.

Louise couldn't be sure of that, though. She couldn't see his eyes, and for some reason, that fact utterly terrified her.

"Well, mademoiselle," Colbert murmured absent-mindedly, "it seems as if you actually _did_ summon a creature. Fascinating."

_...What?_

"An unusual case, summoning a human, to be sure." Colbert glanced at her, his eyes quickly snapping back to the ever-still newcomer in the circle. "...Aren't you going to seal the contract?"

Louise stared at him as if he'd grown several heads and declared himself to be the successor to the Void. "What? Seal the contract with _him_?" she asked, her voice growing shrill.

"Mademoiselle de la Vallière, _you_ were the one who summoned him," Colbert said firmly. "Either you accept the contract, or you will... endure the consequences of a failed ritual." The professor grimaced. "It is, of course, your choice, though I would suggest you take the chance while you still have it."

_...Can't I try again?_ She didn't want this human as a familiar. She wanted a magical creature, a proud, powerful, noble beast, not some strange human drawn from God-knows-where.

The question, as childish and petty as it was, had nearly left her mouth when she understood the serious look that Professor Colbert gave her. She remembered him telling her that repeating the ritual was impossible according to the Founder's laws. He was giving her a last chance.

She turned around and carefully approached the kneeling human. If she hadn't been so focused on her task and dreading it, she might have noticed Professor Colbert carefully stepping to the side, giving him a clear line of sight to the strange man, his staff at the ready. The old soldier was taking no chances.

The man hadn't moved, though Louise thought he saw his head follow her as she approached. Again, she couldn't be sure. His utter stillness unnerved her, as if she was prey to a falcon ready to pounce.

She stopped three paces in front of him. "Er... Excuse me?" He didn't react. She waved. "Hello?"

The other students chuckled and Louise flushed an angry red. None of the other students had bothered to talk to their familiars first; they had simply contracted them and went on with their business. Again, Louise felt as if she was making a fool of herself.

She cursed under her breath and raised her wand, starting to chant. The man's hood tilted sideways, as if questioning what she was doing. "_Pentagon of the five elements, accept..._"

Her words petered out when the man fell forward to the ground in a heap of black robes, utterly still. Louise waited a moment before approaching, trying to turn him over, a task that was made nearly impossible thanks to her small stature and strength.

The other students laughed at her as she struggled to lift up the man lying on the ground. Louise snarled in anger as she gripped him under his arms. She suddenly felt something wet and drew her hand back in disgust.

And then she realized that her uniform was completely sullied with blood. Her _familiar_'s blood.

Louise saw her bloodied hands and did the only thing she thought was reasonable. She screamed and fainted.

The last she heard were Colbert's panicked shouts for a healer, shouts and shocked whispers. For once, she was glad that she couldn't understand them as the black took her.

...

_Don't just stand there and gawk! You! Get a healer and a stretcher, for goodness' sake! We have to get him to the infirmary!_

Ezio honestly had no idea where he was, and he couldn't have cared less. He felt as if he was floating, feeling weightless, as if he was again leaping from great heights. It reminded him of his youth. He heard whispers, but he took no heed of them.

_Jean, what are you doing here? ...Seigneur, what happened to this man? Who is he?_

_No time to talk, Sister; he's losing blood fast! Where the hell do we put him!_

_This bed here – it's close to the potions cabinet... Careful! Don't jolt him!_

Ezio decided to dream for a bit. He didn't have much opportunity to do so before. He remembered hunting across rooftops with Federico, his older brother showing him the tricks of the trade he'd learned from some thieves he knew. He remembered Federico smiling roguishly as they both climbed to the very top of a church, looking out at Florence stretching out beyond. He remembered Federico teaching him how to fight without weapons, how to throw punches and kicks, where to punch and how to block and grapple with someone who wished you harm. Ezio had learned these lessons well, using them throughout the rest of his life.

_Goodness, he's a walking armoury!_

_Get him out of that damn breastplate; I can't treat his wound that way!_

_How do you take these bracers off? I need to get at his veins!_

Ezio had always been the fastest and most agile, leaping across the city's roofs as fast as the eagle he was named after, his step sure and swift. Federico had been the strongest, able to pummel men twice his size even when outnumbered four to one, leaving them to spit out teeth and piss blood for a week.

Petrucchio had been different from his two brothers. Their youngest brother had always been sickly, preferring to remain with his teachers at home, learning how to run numbers and apply geometry, reciting poetry and reading the writings of long dead Romans like Juvenal and Ulpian. When he was confined to bed with yet another bout of fever, which was unfortunately far too often, he would start to throw knives out of boredom. When he later showed off to his brothers, he could hit targets as far as forty paces away without effort, his delicate hands even more lethal than the fists and boots of his oldest brother. Petrucchio delighted in teaching his awed siblings how to adjust their aim and how to throw farther and more accurately than before, and they thanked him by bringing him feathers that he gifted to their mother, who smiled and tried to stop worrying about him.

_We need another blood-replenishing potion! ...Curse it, I'll get two! He must have lost four or five pints already!_

_We can't close this wound – it's punctured his lung. How in the name of the Founder and His saints did he survive this long with such a severe injury?_

_Have you seen his body? This isn't the first wound he has received... Penetrating trauma and damage to the respiratory organ, then? How do you propose to heal that one? _

_Stop the blood flow for now and apply pressure. This is a difficult case. We can't just close it up like a normal laceration; it would suffocate him if the lung is unable to expand afterwards. Hmm... _

Ezio remembered happy times and decided not to think past the horrible moment when he saw his two brothers and father hung from the gallows, consoling his weeping sister and helplessly watching his mother kneeling in a room in the villa in Monteriggioni, locked in silent prayer and refusing to speak to him for years on end.

He'd avenged them, yes, three times over – but sometimes Ezio wondered if he'd done it because of justice, or to simply get away from his grieving family, burying himself in violence and conspiracies so he wouldn't have to think about them. In a way, he'd welcomed growing old and forgetful. His dead family haunted his dreams less and less.

_How old is he?_

_I don't know, I would guess over sixty, close to seventy. Is that important?_

_Yes it is, you dolt! The spell works by accelerating cell growth and division, remember? If we bungle this, he'll end up dying even if we heal his wound! Especially when it comes to such a delicate organ as the lung. Why did he have to get injured _there_ of all places?_

_In my experience, people rarely get violently stabbed in places where it won't cause a painful death. _

_None of your cynicism, Jean, we have better things to do. You'll provide the power for this spell and I'll channel and direct it. Understand?_

_Yes, Sister; no need to get snappish. Dieu au ciel, you healers are all the same everywhere, I swear..._

_Oh, shush. On my count, then. Three, two, one!_

Ezio just wanted to sleep. He remembered something. Yes, he'd been somewhere. A fortress... Or was it a courtyard? He'd died there, or fell asleep, or something. His thoughts were clouded and there were whispers at the edge of his mind. He couldn't understand them, and they troubled him.

Sleep sounded like a good idea right now. Perhaps then he wouldn't hear the whispers anymore.

...

Ezio opened his eyes, blinking once in the bright light that surrounded him. He'd been having a rather odd dream. He'd dreamt of Minerva again, her enigmatic conversation still in his mind.

He closed his eyes, immediately, his eyes stinging. It was far too bright, as if he was surrounded by ethereal light. For a moment, he thought he was back in that odd realm where he'd met Minerva, but he realized that that couldn't be the case. He couldn't be dead, either, for a number of reasons. Ezio had always imagined death to be cold and unfeeling. He was far too comfortable for that to be the case.

Ezio opened his aged eyes carefully, taking a look at his surroundings. He was lying in a bed, cushioned and warm, at the end of a long narrow room with a high ceiling. The stonework was solid and worn, definitely that of an old castle or fortress. The room had two rows of beds set against its walls (all unoccupied), high windows set between each bed, the stained glass giving the room a soft, multicoloured glow. Ezio's bed was at the very end of the room next to the largest window. He looked up at it, trying to make out the details in the glasswork.

He narrowed his eyes, straining, until he made out a man dressed in noble robes, a sword in one hand and a book in the other, his face grave and dignified, a crown on his head surrounded by a bright halo. The light broke like a prism through the multicoloured windowpanes, shining directly onto Ezio's bed and warming his old bones.

For a moment, the old Assassin wanted to thank him like an old friend.

He heard hurried steps. "You're awake!" an elated voice called out happily. A woman, speaking French.

Ezio flinched and made to leap out of bed, his reflexes taking over, but a sudden lance of pain made him fall into bed. He groaned, clutching the side of his torso, feeling thick bandages there. He clenched his eyes shut.

"I'm terribly sorry!" the voice called out remorsefully. "I didn't mean to startle you!" A small hand was put to his forehead. "Your fever's gone down, thank goodness," she muttered.

Ezio blinked rapidly, not understanding. "...Fever?"

"You shouldn't try to get out of bed, you know," the woman chided. "You were asleep for two days straight – we thought that you'd never wake up! The mistress is going to be relieved, she was terribly worried..."

"I do beg your pardon for interrupting, _signorina_," Ezio spoke, surprised at how raspy his voice sounded. "But where am I?"

Now that he could get a good look at her, he saw that she wasn't really a woman. Not yet. A girl, perhaps – barely grown to adulthood, her black hair was cropped short so that it reached her shoulders. She was wearing a black servant's uniform with a nurse's cap on her head, quick eyes quickly taking in everything there was to see.

"Oh dear! That's right, you have no idea what happened, do you?" Again, the girl looked remorseful as she jumped up. "Wait right here, I'll get the matron; she'll explain everything to you! Stay put, you need to rest!"

And with that, the girl quickly stepped along the length of the room through a large door, disappearing before Ezio could a word in edgewise.

For a moment, he just stared after hear, jaw agape. He snapped it shut a moment later and chuckled. _Well, they haven't killed or horribly maimed me yet, so I don't think they wish me harm. I should be fine_. _And a pretty girl told me to stay in bed_. _Who am I to disobey the whims of a woman?_

Ezio closed his eyes, resting them against the bright light and dozing. He felt weak, far weaker than he ever had before in his life. It was worrying and restful at the same time. His thoughts drifted, trying to understand how exactly he had found himself in this bed, recovering from injuries. He couldn't quite remember.

The door opened, and he heard the chattering nurse, still speaking French. He strained to understand them; he'd never heard this particular dialect before. "–still looks a bit weak, but his fever's gone down immensely! He should be fine if we just give him something to eat, and–"

"Young lady, _do_ be quiet," a chagrined voice interrupted her. "I've been listening to your jabbering for six minutes straight now, and it irks me. I've had to hear students complain and whine to me all day long, so could you give me a bit of peace now? Please?"

The girl flushed red as she stepped into the room. "Of course, Professor, terribly sorry about my constantly talking; I'll–"

The man entering after her threw his arms up in surrender. "I give up," he said resignedly. "There's no stopping you, is there?"

"Nothing can stop Siesta from talking," an amused woman's voice sounded as she stepped in behind the others, a smile on her lips. "I wager that the Elves could invade and she could make them retreat with her incessant chattering."

"A wager I'd rather not take, to be sure," the man muttered, rolling grey eyes before focusing them on the far bed where Ezio lay. Their eyes met and held.

Ezio's hearing was sharp, catching the man's whisper as he addressed the girl. "So he hasn't tried to attack you or escape?"

The girl frowned quizzically as mumbled back her reply. "No. Should he have?"

"Strange," the man whispered more to himself than anyone else, shaking his head. "Let's go introduce ourselves to our mysterious guest, then. We have many questions to ask."

_That is far less inviting than a pretty nurse_, Ezio thought as the group of three approached, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

The girl was leading the way, all cheerful smiles. The tall man coming after her was far older, the top of his head bald and the little hair visible at its back and sides greying. He wore simple blue robes, a long staff clutched in his right hand. But the most defining thing about him wasn't his dignified demeanour, at least not at first glance. When Ezio saw his eyes behind those spectacles, grey and feeling far too cold as they bored into his, he knew exactly who this man was. A killer like him. The way he moved and held himself ready to move at a moment's notice all betrayed it.

The middle-aged woman following after him seemed extremely pleasant in comparison. She was short and plump, a cheerful smile on her face as she came closer with rosy cheeks and a heavy step. She wore the same uniform as the girl she'd called 'Siesta', although in her case she reminded Ezio more of a wide black boat with a nurse's cap as its sail than anything else.

The thought made him chuckle, and he nodded at them with a smile on his lined face as they came closer. "I'm afraid that I'm inconveniencing you," he rasped, bowing at the waist in his bed and grimacing. "The young lady told me that I had been staying here for two days, doing nothing but sleeping and being a nuisance. _Mi dispiace_."

"Oh, I'm quite sure that that wasn't the only thing that Siesta told you," the older woman said wryly as the two adults pulled up rough wooden chairs around Ezio's bed. "She likes to talk. Frankly, on occasion I simply send her to attend to the patients I no longer wish to see in my infirmary. You'd be surprised at how quickly they suddenly want to leave, claiming that their illnesses have miraculously disappeared overnight. Quite fascinating."

Siesta, who had remained standing, turned an even deeper shade of red, taking the colour of a particularly healthy tomato.

"And I don't think you should worry about being a nuisance, monsieur," the woman continued, giving him a tired smile as Siesta spluttered out denials. "Rarely have I seen anyone in this school who has had greater need of a healer than you. It was definitely an experience treating you."

"Excuse me, _signora_, but could you explain to me what happened?" Ezio asked politely. "I'm afraid I have no recollection of the... events that led to me being in your care."

"To be completely honest, monsieur, neither do we," the man interrupted quietly, piercing eyes appraising Ezio carefully. "You were summoned onto our doorstep by one of our students during one of our traditional rituals, severely wounded. We healed you, none of us being any wiser as to who you were, what your intentions are, or," and there the man's eyes hardened, "who exactly inflicted those wounds on you."

Ezio met his stare head on, refusing to budge. He'd faced terrifying men before. Most of them had died. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, _Messer_..?"

"Colbert. Jean Colbert de Liège, Professor at the Tristain Academy of Magic." The man bowed his head in greeting, his eyes never leaving Ezio's. "An honour."

Ezio made a weak gesture with his hand, implying a courtly bow. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze, at your service." He gave Siesta a quick smile before addressing the woman seated next to Colbert. "I already know the lovely young lady's name, but I'm afraid we were never introduced, _signora_."

The woman gave him a cheerful smile and a nod. "My name is Sister Catherine, Nun of the Founder's Church and Matron of this infirmary. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Auditore."

"Likewise, _signora_, and may I again extend my gratitude for your kind and generous treatment of my wounds," Ezio said, his charm returning. Even in old age, he tried to be pleasant company. "Rare are the places where injured travellers can expect help. It warms the heart to know that there are still some left in this cruel world."

"All who have ailments that I can cure are welcome here." Her face sobered for a moment. "And I'll offer rest and peace to those whom I can't heal. Fortunately, you weren't one of them."

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by a fidgeting Siesta. "Your Halkeginian is very good, Monsieur Auditore," she said shyly. She looked down when Ezio turned to her, intrigued. "Your accent is a bit strange, but you speak our tongue very well. Where do you come from? Romalia?"

Ezio just stared at her, trying to make sense of their words. None of them made any sense. She spoke French – a language that he'd learned during his travels and perfected during various dalliances with pretty French girls in Florence and elsewhere – but none of the names she mentioned were familiar. Halkeginia? Romalia? He'd never heard of any of them.

"Excuse me, _signorine_,_ Messer_," he said, hesitating. "But what is the name of the country I'm currently the guest of?"

Colbert raised a cool eyebrow. "You are in Tristain, one of the five great magical kingdoms on the Halkeginian continent, currently led by our most gracious Princess Henrietta, regent and heir to the throne. Are any of those names familiar to you?"

Ezio shook his head, honestly starting to worry. Colbert saw it and frowned. "Siesta, please fetch Mademoiselle de la Vallière. I'm sure she'll be quite interested in seeing the results of her summoning."

Siesta gave a small curtsy and a smile. "Of course, Professor. I'll be right back!"

Colbert still frowned at Ezio, even after the infirmary's door had closed after the excitable nurse. The professor grimaced. "It seems that my worst fears have been realized."

"Excuse me, _professore_, but what are you referring to?"

Colbert sighed, cradling his forehead. "I told you, monsieur, that you were summoned here by one of our students during a magical ritual. Now, my fear is–"

"Excuse me, did you just say it was a _magical_ ritual?" Ezio interrupted, his expression incredulous.

Colbert looked up, blinking. "Yes, I did. Why do you ask?"

Ezio leaned back into his pillow, shaking his head decisively. "Ridiculous. Magic doesn't exist. What kind of trick are you trying to pull on me?"

Sister Catherine looked as if he had gone mad. "_Magic doesn't exist?_ What kind of barbarian backwater are you from, not knowing the existence of the arcane arts?"

Ezio bristled at her accusation. "I come from a long line of distinguished merchants and bankers of the Republic of Firenze," he said, his voice proud. Even if part of it was a lie, the essentials were true. "And I have followed that tradition myself with great success." He considered them sternly, frowning. "And I have never heard of magic except in fairy tales my mother told me or the stories of drunken oafs in taverns."

"Yet here you are at the Tristain Academy of Magic, the premier magical school of our realm," Colbert said shrewdly. "That, monsieur, is a fact you cannot deny."

"Magic? Pah!" Ezio snorted, amused. "I'll believe it when I see it, _professore_, and not a moment before!"

Colbert sighed and tapped the bottom end of his staff on the ground. Flame roared from the other end, twisting and turning around him like a snake around its charmer, surrounding the middle-aged man without ever burning him. A gust of heat slammed into Ezio, making him flinch.

The professor gave the stunned Ezio a tired smile, the flames disappearing as quickly as they had come. "Is that enough proof for you, monsieur? Or shall I need to do more to convince you?"

Ezio noted dumbly that the fire hadn't even left scorch marks on the professor's robes. He was as immaculate as before. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he doubted that it was because of the heat. "All right," he conceded slowly. "It would seem I was mistaken."

"Of course you were," Sister Catherine muttered, her voice sounding terribly annoyed. "A world without magic? What utter nonsense!" She shot Colbert an angry look. "And next time you decide to unleash Triangle-class fire magic in my infirmary, do have the decency to tell me beforehand, Jean!"

The professor chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head in a sheepish manner. "Sorry, Sister. I promise it won't happen again."

"Hmph." Sister Catherine didn't seem entirely convinced.

"Moving on," Colbert said quickly, "it's exactly as I said, Monsieur Auditore. Magic does exist in our realm; it's even a vital part of our lives and our society! From your reaction, though, may I assume that your homeland does not have mages, wizards or warlocks?"

"You may assume so," Ezio said, having gotten his composure back. "This is a surprising development for me, to be honest." _And I'm not easily surprised. Not after decades of secret war and bloodshed... not to mention the mysteries I have seen. _

"Ah." The professor grimaced. "This will make the rest of my explanation rather... difficult, to say the least."

"What do you mean?" Ezio asked, suspicious.

Colbert sighed, resigned. "To be completely honest, that task shouldn't even fall to me. I'm not the one who summoned you here."

"Who is it, then? Who did this to me?" the old Assassin demanded.

The door to the infirmary opened and Colbert gave Ezio a sardonic smile. "Your new Master."

...

The last two days had been hell for Louise.

Two days were always set apart after the Springtime Summoning Ritual to allow the new masters to get to know their familiars better. Ironically, Louise had gotten what she wanted: she'd managed to summon a creature. The ritual had been successful.

And yet she was still bitter.

She'd seen the other students in the courtyard, spending time in each other's company and with their familiars, talking, laughing, simply spending time together and enjoying the sun. Louise had entered the courtyard once and had immediately heard whispers behind held hands as many eyes followed her. Apparently, her bizarre summoning and humiliating fainting spell in front of the whole school had been the talk of the whole school. Even the servants were discussing (in hushed tones, if course) the cause of the uproar among their noble masters.

People were talking. Again. Doubting that she had really summoned that being, doubting that she could perform magic, wondering why her human 'familiar' was in the infirmary, talking behind her back _again_. Louise cursed her sharp hearing, turned around and fled to the now empty library, burying herself in books.

Two days she spent there, leaving only to eat and sleep (and even then she had to be chased out by the wizened monk in charge of the shelves), going through tome after tome in an effort to find out what had gone wrong during her summoning. None of the grimoires mentioned cases where the summoning hadn't been instantaneous, where the colour or layout of the runes changed, or where a human being had been summoned instead of some sort of beast. She even thought about sneaking into the teacher's section where the oldest books were to be found, but she relented. She was already disdained enough because of her complete inability to use magic; she refused to take any more chances.

She'd wanted to see her summons but had been flatly refused by the Matron. "He's unconscious and weak from blood loss. I've rarely seen a man so wounded and still clinging to life. Any distraction could be dangerous, for all we know." The woman had raised a stern hand in dismissal. "You can't see him, young lady. I'll send a servant along when he wakes up. Now leave."

She'd tried to see Colbert, but her favourite teacher had locked himself in his laboratory, not speaking to anyone, the servants bringing him his meals. She'd wanted to hammer on the door, demanding entrance, before suddenly feeling afraid. What if he was disappointed in her performance? Had she failed him in some way? Was he angry with her?

In the end, she'd slunk away and returned to the library, unable to bring up the courage to see her teacher.

It was there that the nurse had found her, asleep on one of the many reading lecterns. Louise had glared at her when she had been awoken by a touch to the shoulder. "What do you want?" she'd hissed, furious at being caught in such an undignified manner.

The nurse had just shrunk away, her expression scared. "Sister Catherine sent me, mylady," she said meekly. "I'm to accompany you to the infirmary."

"And why would you do that?" Louise said, her tone disdainful. "I've been refused entry far too many times already."

"Your summons has awoken, mylady. He's conscious!" The nurse smiled, perhaps hoping to cheer her up. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"When I want the opinion of a servant, I'll ask for it myself," Louise snapped irritably, getting up from the lectern, not bothering to return her books. "Let's go," she ordered curtly.

The nurse gave a small curtsy that Louise ignored. "Mylady," she murmured quietly, following a step behind Louise as the young noble stormed away.

As Louise silently stalked through the corridors to the infirmary, people wisely stepped out of her way as they saw her approach. In a way, Louise was completely unmistakable. She was the shortest of all the students her age, with a temper that was inversely proportional to her size. If she hadn't been either scowling angrily or stoically cold to everyone around her, perhaps some of the boys might have found her long strawberry blonde hair and reddish-brown eyes pretty. Instead, they mocked her behind her back for her lack of magical aptitude and short fuse, only to flee when she drew her wand in anger.

When the only spell you could cast resulted in fiery explosions of varying sizes, people tended to avoid getting in your way. It didn't stop them from whispering, though. Louise had thought of simply blowing up a group of gossiping hens – more than once, in fact – but realized that it would only make matters worse. In the end, she accepted it with gritted teeth, even though she hated it.

So it was now that Louise had to endure the looks of her classmates as she passed them, their disdainful scowls and disapproving frowns burning into the back of her head. She addressed the nurse following her – anything to distract herself, even if it meant conversing with a commoner!

"So, you said he was conscious?"

The servant started, surprised to be spoken to. Nobles rarely did deign to speak to those catering to their whims, except for giving orders. "Er, yes, mylady, he woke only twenty minutes ago! A bit weak, but otherwise fine."

"And how is he? A brute? Stupid? Is his mind addled?"

"I wouldn't know, mylady," the nurse said quietly, a smile that Louise couldn't see on her face. "I wouldn't call him stupid or addled, but that's not for me to judge. Rather charming, to be honest."

_Commoners_, Louise thought disdainfully. _Show them a bit of kindness and they lick out of your hand like dogs. Disgraceful. _"In any case," she continued out loud as they reached the infirmary's door, "thank you for informing me."

"Be careful, mylady," the nurse warned. "He's still weak, like I said. Don't burden him if you can avoid it."

Louise turned a cool eye on her, looking her up and down. "What is your name, girl?"

"Siesta, mylady."

"Any family name?"

"No, mylady. Siesta of Tarbes, that's all there is to it."

_Figures. Commoners rarely have family names, do they? Only the name of the village where they were born._

Louise stepped uncomfortably close to Siesta, glaring right up into her face. To any outsider, the sight of a smaller girl invading a taller one's personal space to intimidate her would have been laughable, but any onlooker hailing from Halkeginia wouldn't have dared to interfere. Even if Louise's magical ability was mediocre and uncontrollable, Siesta's was nil in comparison – which meant that Louise had the final word in any argument they might have.

"Listen to me well, Siesta of Tarbes," Louise said, her voice low and dangerous. "I've already said this before, but I don't think you quite heard me then. If I want to hear your counsel, I will ask it of you. When I want you to remain silent, you _will_ remain silent. And if want you out of my sight, you _will_ leave without question. Do I make myself clear?"

The nurse quailed under Louise's ice-cold glare. "Y-yes, mylady. As you say."

Louise stepped back, satisfied. "Good. You show more sense than many others." She quickly adjusted her uniform and cloak. "Now let's take a look this barbarian that I seem to have summoned from Founder-knows-where."

Siesta wordlessly opened the infirmary's door, holding it open for the smaller noble. Louise entered, her head held tall. She caught snippets of a conversation and spotted a group of people seated around a bed on the far end of the room. Her heart sank when she spotted Professor Colbert. Now she would have no choice but to talk to him.

The Matron, Sister Catherine, was there as well, the plump woman smiling amiably as always, though Louise thought that there was a nervous edge underneath it as she approached. Then her eyes fell on the man leaning against the headboard of the bed.

At first glance, he seemed like nobody special. He looked gaunt and frail; the nurse hadn't been joking when she'd mentioned he was weak. What surprised Louise was how _old_ he looked. He looked far older than her own father, who was in his fifties himself – his hair was as white as the sheets of the bed he lay in, only the occasional streak of grey hinting at any colour. Overall, Louise thought, a weak old man.

And then she met his eyes.

'The eyes are the windows to the soul.' Louise couldn't for the life of her remember where she'd read that phrase before, whether it was a theological treatise, an essay on the ways of men or a phrase she'd picked up from a romantic novel belonging to her older sister. She'd always ignored it, believing it be overblown prose that giggling schoolgirls used to dreamily describe their knight in shining armour. Useless nonsense, she'd thought.

But when she saw this old man's eyes, she saw that they were black. So black, in fact, that she couldn't be exactly sure where the pupil began and the iris ended. They seemed like black stones set in white as they considered her, and Louise somehow knew that these eyes had seen things that she would never have even dreamed of. And suddenly she was afraid.

Before she knew it, she was standing right next to the bed, her eyes still locked with the old man's. No one said a word.

He was the one who looked away first, throwing an intrigued look at Professor Colbert. "My new Master, you say?" His Halkeginian was accented, a foreign touch that Louise didn't recognize. It sounded exotic, as if had come from the south, yet different than any Romalian she'd ever met.

Colbert nodded in answer to his question, amusement twinkling in his eye, and the bedridden elder turned to smile at Louise.

"In my home, the mothers tell stories of evil witches with hunched backs and warts on their noses that steal children away, so that can scare them into behaving. I'll admit that a pretty young lady like you is exceeding my expectations by far."

Louise flushed bright red. Was he _complimenting_ her _looks_? It had to be mockery. "Hold your tongue, familiar," she hissed angrily.

He raised an eyebrow, his demeanour calm at her venom. "My apologies, _signorina_. I meant no disrespect." He then turned back to Professor Colbert. "Now, is anyone going to explain this whole summoning and 'familiar' business to me? I admit that I am still confused as to the details of what exactly happened..."

"What do you mean, you're confused?" Louise asked sharply. "Haven't you ever heard of the Springtime Summoning Ritual before?"

The man turned those black eyes back to her, completely unfazed. "No. Should I have?"

Louise opened her mouth to say something (probably an insult to this barbarian's intelligence) when Colbert held up a hand, commanding immediate silence. "Mademoiselle, don't be rash now," he cautioned. "Monsieur Auditore is from a far-off land where magic is unknown, so he has absolutely no experience with any of our traditions and customs. Be kind to him."

"What is this nonsense?" Louise flared, her anger returning. "What do you mean by that, a 'land where magic is unknown'?"

"It means," the old man said calmly, "that I have never heard of magic before the day you apparently... summoned me, was that the word you used, _professore_?"

Louise stared at him, honestly at a loss for words as he considered with utter calm. _He's never heard of magic before? But then..._

"Does that mean..." she said, feeling her throat dry, "Does that mean that you are a _commoner_?"

"A commoner?" he parroted, curious. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

"Someone who can't use magic."

Louise dreaded the answer, and she wasn't disappointed. He smiled amiably. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, _signorina_, but I'm afraid that magic performed by the likes of your countrymen seems quite impossible for me. My apologies."

_He doesn't seem very apologetic_, Louise thought darkly as she slumped down into a chair. She never thought of thanking Siesta for bringing it to her, her hands balling into angry fists as she stared at them, clenched in her lap. They relaxed a moment later as Louise chuckled, a dark sound that troubled the ear. "What irony... A zero summoning a zero. Why am I surprised? This is just Fate's cruel way of mocking me, again and again."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, _signorina_."

Louise looked up. Professor Colbert looked wary and concerned, Sister Catherine looked pitying (damn her!), but the old man reclining in his bed seemed ambivalent, his demeanour even as he waited for an explanation.

She gritted her teeth and spoke the hated words. "In our society, monsieur, nobility and pedigree are based upon the ability to use magic. Our monarchs are all distinguished and powerful mages, while the rest of our nobility all have varying degrees of power, magecraft being the sole unifying banner of our country of Tristain. Commoners are those unable to use magic – because of this reason, they are subservient to the crown and its bannermen."

Louise heard Siesta shift uncomfortably behind her, but she ignored it. She flashed the old man a sardonic smile. "What you see before you, monsieur, is the disgrace of Tristain's nobility," she continued, her voice bitter. "My schoolmates call me 'Louise the Zero'. An unflattering moniker, certainly, but one that isn't too far from the truth. You see, I have never been able to control my magic. All my spells have failed, some in more spectacular fashion than others, but they still failed."

"And that's why..."

"Louise the Zero," she spat out venomously. "Zero talent, zero success, zero ability, zero everything. A commoner born among nobles."

"That's quite enough, mademoiselle," Professor Colbert said sharply.

"Why, Professor?" Louise snapped, her frayed temper finally unravelling. "Are you going to deny the truth of what I said?"

She felt humiliated. Not only in front of Professor Colbert, though that was bad enough. She felt humiliated because she was talking to her _familiar_, someone who was supposed to accompany her for the rest of her life, obeying her orders and protecting her. And she laid herself bare to him, even though she hadn't finalized the contract yet. She had to _convince_ him to accept the contract, when he should have obeyed her without question. And she was helpless in front of him.

Louise _hated_ feeling helpless. She felt powerless, unable to do anything. A burden.

_Weak_, her mother's voice whispered in her ear, _pathetic_.

"Well, your reputation is one thing," the man spoke up, dragging Louise away from bad memories. He looked at them all, calm and expectant. "But what does this have to do with _me_, specifically?"

"Maybe I can explain that," Professor Colbert said hastily, throwing a worried glance at Louise. She just nodded, composing herself.

"You see," the Professor began, before halting, deep in thought. "Well, to be honest, I'll spare you all the history and tradition surrounding the Springtime Summoning Ritual. Most of it is legend or unnecessarily detailed, though if you are interested–"

"Please, _professore_, get to the point."

"Ah, yes, of course. At a certain stage in a mage's growth, we expect them to summon a certain creature, one that we refer to as a 'familiar'. There are other terms, but those are rather technical and irrelevant right now." He made a wide sweeping gesture as he explained. "Usually, these take the forms of various beasts: badgers, foxes, wolves, lizards, bears, dragons, birds – the possibilities are endless. However, it would seem that Mademoiselle de la Vallière has managed to surprise us yet again."

Louise glared at the Professor, but he ignored her, so caught up was he in his explanation. When Professor Colbert explained something, the world could end and he wouldn't notice. He tended to blather on as well.

The old man seemed quite interested, however. "In what way has she surprised you, then?"

"She managed to summon a _human_ familiar – something I had never thought possible! I would have loved to get my hands on the remains of her summoning circle," the teacher said mournfully, "but it was trampled under the feet of our clumsy students when we rushed you to the infirmary."

The old man's eyes danced with amusement. "My apologies, then. I still seem to cause my hosts unnecessary trouble even when I'm not conscious. But wait..." His eyes snapped to Louise, becoming deadly serious. "Does that mean that _you_ brought me here?"

"Yes," she snapped defiantly. "What of it?"

"Oh, nothing at all. Do continue, _professore_."

"Gladly, gladly... Familiars are a mage's constant companion, if you will. They keep their masters company, serve them by fetching reagents for experiments, and protect them from harm or fight alongside them in battle should their lord or lady ever go to war. In return, the Master gives them roof and shelter, protecting them from harm the familiar cannot defend against, and caring for them in other ways. Many familiars are capable of magic, though that is the exception rather than the rule."

"Hold on a moment," the man said slowly, his tone suddenly far colder and dangerous than before. "Are you telling me that a familiar is a mage's _pet_?"

Colbert blinked, thinking about it, not recognizing the cold anger in the man's eyes. "Why, yes, that's a rather unorthodox way of putting it, but in a sense, familiar are their Master's pets."

The man turned to look at Louise, sounding furious. "You summoned me here so that I could serve as your _pet_?"

Louise just stared back, defiant, even though fear was gripping her insides.

"Answer me, girl."

"Yes! Yes I did!" Louise yelled, standing up abruptly, her eyes blazing furiously with anger fuelled by fear. "I participated in the summoning ritual like everybody, fool that I was, and guess who appeared? You! Not an animal, not a beast, only human little you! Now, I don't know what I've done to deserve having _an aged cripple_ as my ideal companion for life–"

She heard sharp intakes of breath around her, but she ploughed on relentlessly anyway, propriety and good manners be damned. "–but you are my last chance to prove myself worthy to be a mage of Tristain before I am exiled or disgraced from the nobility! And God and His saints help me, if I have to accept a _commoner_ as a Familiar to avoid that fate, then I will!"

"Mademoiselle!" Sister Catherine barked out, making to stand up, but the bedridden man held up one hand, stopping her. He just looked at Louise, and again she felt terrified as he spoke.

"You seem to be under the impression that I will willingly become your... _familiar_," the man said icily, his eyes hard and stern as he disdainfully spoke the term. "I have lived for sixty-seven years upon this gracious earth, and of those I spent five decades fighting the ones who would wish me and my kindred harm." He drew himself up in bed, proud and cold. "Yet all those years I was beholden to no one. I followed my own path. If you think you can make me your slave, then think again, child. My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Remember it. I bow to no lord, mortal or otherwise. And I will _not_ change my mind just because a little girl with a temper comes along."

Louise stared at him, utterly lost for words. That commanding presence, that pride – no commoner spoke to a noble this way. That was something that she understood from deep down, something that had been ingrained in her ever since she could walk. Commoners bowed before nobles. And he'd just refused to bow, cold and proud, in a way that was not unlike her own mother, powerful and regal as she was.

And she realized with horror that she couldn't force him to accept her. If she did, he would kill her. That was clear as day, even as he lay there, weak, old and unarmed. His eyes said it all.

She sat back in her chair, avoiding his eyes.

Ezio – that was his name, wasn't it? – turned to Professor Colbert, whose eyes glanced between them rapidly, unsure what to do or say. "_Professore_?"

The teacher started badly. "Yes?"

"When I came here, did I have anything with me? Weapons, armour, anything else worth of mention?"

"Er, yes, yes there was! Your travelling robes, quite a lot of weapons, and a saddle with its saddlebags. No horse, though. That one rather confused me–"

"Good." Ezio threw back his covers, making to move out of bed and get up, wincing. "I'm afraid that I cannot impose on your hospitality any longer." He smiled at Sister Catherine and Siesta. "Or, to be completely honest, I do not _wish_ to give you any more trouble. I'll gather my things and leave as soon as I can."

"But Monsieur Auditore!" Siesta burst out, horrified. "You're not ready to travel yet! You're still weak!"

Ezio started laughing, a rasping sound that sounded like sandpaper scratching on wood. "_Signorina_, I've lived for nearly seventy years. I've been expecting death for a very long time. If anything, I intend to use the little time I have left to return to my home and family. I don't want to die in a foreign land among strangers, even if it would be more comfortable for me." He turned to Professor Colbert with a questioning look. "Unless, of course, there is a way to send me back where I came from."

The teacher shook his head mutely, and Ezio laughed. "I didn't think so. Life is never that easy, is it, _professore_? Well, my decision is made then." He bowed to them, the movement elegant despite his weakness and painful injury. "I'll take my leave, _signora e signorine_. I was a pleasure to meet you, and again, I give you my thanks for treating me and nursing me back to health." He turned expectantly to the silent teacher. "Lead the way, _professore_ Colbert."

"Of course," the professor said quietly, standing up from his chair, throwing a glance at the defeated Louise sitting in her chair, her head hung low. She still hadn't said anything. Colbert shook his head and sighed.

As they began to move towards the door, Louise quietly spoke up. "Do you even know which way your home is?"

Ezio stilled, not turning around. "I don't," he admitted freely. "But this is not the first time I've had to travel to far-off lands. I'll find a way."

"Where are you from, exactly?" Siesta asked, curious.

"The Republic of Firenze. It's a large city in the Toscana region of Italia."

"Firenze? Toscana? Italia?" Sister Catherine frowned as she racked her encyclopaedic memory. "Strange, I've never heard any of these names before. How odd." Ezio whirled around, startled, and she rushed to explain. "I travelled widely in my youth for my education as a healer, so I'm surprised to have never heard of your home." She pursed her lips. "Though it would make sense if you hail from a place that doesn't know magic. I never travelled the barbarian lands."

"_Signora_, please don't refer to me that way," Ezio said firmly but politely. "I am many things, but a barbarian is not one of them."

"Ah, of course. My apologies."

"Please, Ezio," Louise begged with a small voice, hating how hesitant and scared she sounded. "Stay."

She _hated_ it when she was weak, but she was at her wit's end now. She couldn't force him to stay, that much was obvious. She had believed that he would give in when confronted by magic and by her nobility, commoner that he was. He'd simply ignored it. She couldn't use magic on him – with her lack of control, she might just hurt him or drive him away. So she had to beg for him to stay with her.

She _hated_ it when she had to beg. She hated being weak. She had tried to be strong all her life, had worked tirelessly to become strong, and now it all depended on her _begging_ for someone else's help and acceptance. It was utterly humiliating, all her work gone in a flash.

Louise wiped her eyes with the back of her knuckles, still refusing to look up. She wouldn't let them see her cry. She _wouldn't_.

"Child," a voice ordered in a tired tone, "look at me."

Louise did and realized for the first time how tall Ezio was. He was gaunt, emaciated from days of being ill and comatose, not to mention old agem but he was still far taller than her, looming over her as she sat slumped in her chair, carrying himself with an air of confidence that he was either born to or earned by himself. He may have been a commoner in Tristain, but he carried himself with more dignity and strength than most nobles.

_Ezio Auditore da Firenze – that was his name, right? Doesn't sound like a commoner's name..._

Ezio's black eyes bored into Louise's reddish-brown ones. "Child, what if I accepted to become your... familiar?" He held up a hand to stall any question she might have asked. "I will become your familiar, if you accept some of my conditions. The contract goes both ways, doesn't it, _professore_?" He glanced at Colbert.

The teacher nodded, looking thoughtful. "Absolutely correct, Monsieur Auditore. It's a contract between mage and familiar, so there are conditions that you can demand, if you wish to do so."

Louise felt a pang of dread again. A geas? A magically binding contract? Those were _dangerous_. If you weren't careful, they could force you to do horrible, unspeakable things, or take away your ability to use magic if you went against the contract's stipulations.

But she really didn't have a choice. Louise sat up, held up her chin and looked Ezio straight in the eye. "Name your terms," she said boldly.

The old man gave her an amused smile before quickly becoming serious. "Condition number one." He held up one wizened finger. "You will _not_ treat me as a slave or a pet. In my long life, I have bowed down to no one of my own free will. If I decide to become your familiar, it will be an equal partnership, one where we both work together and neither is treated as the lesser of the two. Is that clear?"

"I can accept that." She quirked a sardonic smile. "I don't think I could force you to do anything you didn't want to do anyway, even if I had forced the familiar contract on you without your consent."

Ezio chuckled. "Very likely. I'm stubborn that way." Another finger rose. "Condition number two. You will allow me as much freedom as you can and you will help me adapt to this strange new country we're in. If I have a question about your people or your land, you will try to answer to the best of your ability."

Louise frowned quizzically. "Why is that so important?"

"_Professore_ Colbert nearly made my heart stop when he used magic for the first time," Ezio said drily as he nodded at the aged teacher, who had the decency to look sheepish. "An impressive demonstration, no doubt, but a tad frightening nevertheless. I don't want to be taken by surprise again, so I'd like you to teach me."

"Deal," Louise said immediately, feeling positively giddy with elation and trying to hide it. "I would have probably helped you anyway, so that's fine."

"How generous of you," he said drily. "Condition number three, my last one." He looked deadly serious now, his face grave. "If I die, I want you to find a way to return my body and effects to my home and family."

Louise's happy train of thought was derailed quite quickly. "What?"

Ezio smiled thinly. "Consider it a dying man's last request."

"A dying man's last request?" Louise demanded, furiously standing up as she got right into his face. "What is _that_ supposed to mean, exactly!"

Ezio actually looked surprised, but didn't back down. "I thought I was quite clear before, _signorina_. I am dying." He smirked humourlessly. "To be completely honest, I thought that I would die... two days ago, was it? When I turned up like a wounded _cane_ on your doorstep."

"You're dying?" Louise repeated, horrified.

"I'm sixty-seven," Ezio snorted, darkly amused. "It would be a miracle if I wasn't!"

Louise must still have looked shocked, because he looked her straight in the eye, his voice dropping to a quiet whisper. "I want to be buried with my family, child. You are young, you don't think of such things when you have all your life ahead of you, but I assure you, thinking of dying without my loved ones near me was one of the worst things that have ever happened to me. But I am not foolish enough to assume that Death will refuse to claim me." He chuckled. "All men must die, and so will I, sooner or later. I've lived far too long for it to be later rather than sooner, unfortunately, so I have to make plans, don't I?" He tapped her forehead lightly with his three raised fingers. "Plans that include you."

"Rather morbid of you, isn't it?" Louise retorted, trying to smile and probably failing miserably. "Planning your own funeral arrangements."

Ezio grinned back. "I prefer being morbid and prepared to being terrified and clueless."

"Well, you two will get along fine then," she heard Professor Colbert mutter. "I've rarely met a more pessimistic student than our Mademoiselle de la Vallière here."

"Touché." Louise sighed and nodded. "I'll do it. I promise that I'll try to send your body home once you pass on."

Ezio patted her on the head, a paternal gesture that surprised Louise immensely. "Good. I'll trust you."

And Louise found to her own surprise and shock that it did feel good to be trusted. No one had ever trusted her with anything before, considered she was treated like a sheltered, frail cripple.

This new feeling felt... nice. Yes. It definitely did. Even if it concerned someone's death.

"So, how do we finalize this familiar contract, then?" Ezio asked, tearing her from her thoughts.

"What? Oh yes, of course!" Louise drew her wand, but stopped as she considered the end to the ritual. "Er... The procedure is rather... complex."

"I have time," Ezio said politely.

"It's not an issue of time!" Louise said frantically, flushing to the very roots of her strawberry blonde hair, her face turning a dark crimson of embarrassment as she waved her wand about. "Well... U-usually the ceremony is performed on an animal or a beast, so it doesn't really matter, but with you, it gets... difficult!"

The foreigner raised a confused eyebrow as Sister Catherine and Professor Colbert watched with undisguised amusement. "What's the problem, then?"

"I have to kiss you!" Louise yelled out loud, before clamping her hands over her mouth, embarrassed beyond belief.

"That's it?" He looked puzzled. "You're making such a fuss about a simple kiss?"

"It's my first one!" Louise contested hotly before ordering herself to shut up, mortified at the things she was blabbing out in front of her teachers. And a common nurse, no less! They just seemed amused, though the Siesta girl was very much trying to hide her giggles.

Ezio rolled his eyes. "How old are you, _signorina_?"

"Seventeen," she snapped back, her usual anger returning.

"Right, seventeen. Now, you will realize that there are quite a few more important things that matter in life than a kiss. A kiss?" He waved it off. "A trifle, a passing consequence! People kiss each other every day, sometimes someone else every day if they're so inclined, and they remain as virtuous or wicked as they were before it! A kiss is nothing of importance, I tell you!"

"You seem quite knowledgeable on the subject, monsieur," Sister Catherine said slyly as Colbert tried hard not to burst out in guffaws at Louise's expression, only years of ingrained dignity masking it as odd twitches around the corners of his mouth.

Ezio winked at her. "You'd be surprised at the things I was up to when _I_ was seventeen, _signora_. Oh, the sweet memories..."

"Enough of this already!" Louise stamped her foot childishly. She was sure that her face was as red as the signal fires of La Rochelle now, but it couldn't be helped. "Let's... Argh, let's just get this over with!"

She started waving her wand, chanting rapidly in the ancient tongue. Anything to get out of this embarrassing situation. Anything! "_Pentagon of the five elements, answer my call! Earth, fire, wind, water, void! Take this creature and make it my familiar!_"

She ignored the flaming runes that had appeared out of thin air to hover around the two of them, simply grabbing her surprised familiar by the lapels of the shirt Sister Catherine had dressed him in, yanking him down to her height and kissing him briefly. She let go immediately afterwards, as if she had been burned.

Ezio looked at her, his black eyes twinkling with merriment. "See? I told you a kiss was unimportant, after all."

"Oh, be quiet!" she snapped back, now even angrier with herself than before, something she didn't even think possible. "That's not important right now!" That only seemed to amuse the old man, who chuckled. "The runes should have appeared by now..."

"What runes?" Ezio asked, curious, before suddenly wincing as he snatched his left hand in his right in sudden pain. He stared aghast as an invisible knife seemed to cut strange markings into the back of his right hand, blood leaking freely as something bit deeply into his skin. "What is this madness?" he asked, looking panicked.

"The Familiar's Mark," Colbert explained patiently, taking Ezio's hand in his own and examining the lines on its back, wiping away grimy blood. The lines were now glowing faintly, though the colour was receding. "All magically bound creatures have them. They are proof for a successful contract between mage and summons, recorded in the annals of our Academy as evidence of a young mage coming of age. Fascinating... I've never seen this particular set of runes before, but they are genuine..."

He let Ezio's hand drop and turned to Louise, smiling widely. "Congratulations, Mademoiselle de la Vallière! You have successfully summoned and contracted a familiar!"

"Félicitations, mademoiselle!" Sister Catherine chimed in, beaming at her. "You made it! Jean was always so confident in you!"

Even Siesta couldn't help but add her two centimes as she caught the celebratory mood, Louise standing there and smiling, in happy embarrassment for once. "Good for you, mylady!"

"That's nice," Ezio mumbled, shivering like a leaf as he stood there, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Good for you, child... Don't mind me, I just feel rather strange..."

And then his eyes rolled into the back of his head before he slumped to the ground, Colbert managing to catch him before he cracked his head open on the hard stone floor.

Louise wailed in despair as Ezio was quickly bundled back into his bed. "What in Founder's name did I do wrong _now_?"

...

Louise was eventually escorted out of the infirmary by a fidgeting Siesta.

Well, 'escorted' was perhaps the wrong word. Sister Catherine took Ezio's temperature, saw the way he was thrashing about even as he was unconscious and immediately ordered a panicking Louise to leave. The young noble girl who had sprung to her familiar's side in blind fear and worry had flatly refused. A mistake she soon regretted.

The plump Sister had drawn herself up to her full height (which wasn't admittedly very high, but still intimidating to someone like Louise) and sent a withering glare at the youngest daughter of the Duc de la Vallière. "This, child, is _my_ infirmary. In here, I decide who gets healed and who will have to wait for their treatment; who lives and who dies. In here, even God himself will follow my orders after I've given him some bed rest and pills." She had raised her wand threateningly. "Now leave, or I'll make sure that you'll stay a bit longer than you _really_ want to."

Louise, her ears still ringing from the healer's furious admonition, was then politely shown to the door by the nurse, Siesta smiling apologetically and telling her to come back tomorrow. The last thing she saw of her familiar before the heavy oaken door was slammed shut in her face was Ezio thrashing in fitful sleep, groaning pitifully, white steam rising from his lobster-red skin as Sister Catherine and Professor Colbert examined him, obviously not having a clue what was going on.

Needless to say that Louise Francoise de la Vallière was extremely troubled for the rest of the day, a fact that the other students easily picked up on when they spotted her in the dinner hall, sitting alone and utterly lost in thought.

When she tried to go to sleep that night, she found that she couldn't. It wasn't for lack of comfort, definitely not – her bedding was made of silk and filled with down feathers, luxuries that most commoners could only dream of, considering their cost – but still she laid awake, worried about her familiar and wondering whether he would be alright.

_He said he was old and dying, after all..._

She forced her eyes closed, trying to think of happier things. _It's alright. He'll be alright. He's my familiar now. He _said_ he would become my familiar._ A last happy thought made her drift off to sleep. _I'm a mage. A real mage. I'm not a failure..._

She thought she woke up once, but dismissed it as a dream. The moon was shining through the window and turned her bed cover into blinding white. Louise watched it, fascinated. It really was beautiful.

A quiet sound by her bedside made her look to the door, and she stilled. There stood a cowled figure in white, a cape slung over one shoulder. Eyes glinted under the cowl, a young man's face. He seemed to be watching her.

Surprisingly, Louise found that she was neither scared nor surprised at his sudden appearance. This was a dream, after all. Stranger things happened in dreams, and she only had to wake up if this one got too scary or bizarre.

The young man bowed, an elegant movement that would have fit any noble at the royal court. "Your wish, mistress?" he asked, his tone both respectful yet mocking at the same time, his accent strange and exotic.

Louise said the first thing that came to her mind. "Take the laundry basket and get it to the scullery. My clothes need to be washed."

A pause that might have been surprise, followed by a dry chuckle. "As my mistress commands."

A moment later, Louise woke up and felt that she was alone again, her visitor having mysteriously disappeared. Only the moon was there, watching her serenely.

_Of course no one's here. It was just a dream_. She frowned. _A really vivid dream, but still._

As she snuggled back under the covers, she thought that her dreams were getting rather silly. She would have to drink less wine at the dinner table from now on.

...

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (May 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	3. Chapter III – Exploring The Roost

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the two original works, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

Good day or good evening to you, ladies and gentlemen, and a warm welcome to the third chapter of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_, following one of our favourite Assassins in the strange magical world of Halkeginia. Your reviews have been some of the greatest encouragement I have ever received about my writing in a very long time, and I want to thank you for that. I also want to thank those who have read my story without leaving a review - the sheer numbers of visitors to my first story on this website were enough to make my heart swell with pride and happiness. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The third chapter of this story is mostly simple exposition and development of the characters from the _Familiar of Zero_ novels. I hope you don't mind the lack of action, but Ezio is still trying to get his bearings in an unfamiliar world. I promise that the plot will be developed in upcoming chapters.

Speaking of upcoming chapters, I have a small announcement to make. You have perhaps noticed that I published three rather long chapters in three short days. As much as I would like to claim that I am indeed able to write and edit my chapters at such a ludicrous speed, I'm afraid that that is not the case - each chapter takes up great amounts of my very limited free time. I will soon visit extended family for a few days, being disconnected from my familiar internet in the process, and I also have to prepare for examinations in my university classes in the near future.

In plain terms, this means that I will be unable to update at my previous speed, for which I sincerely apologize. I am still writing when I get the chance, and I have a few future chapters already written, but these need a lot of editing and correction to be of a similar quality as the ones before, and my schedule is filled with work and studying for the next upcoming month or so. Real life unfortunately takes precedence over anything I do for fun.

You can expect the next chapter of this story in about a week's time. I'm terribly sorry, but that is the earliest I can honestly get the time in to write and edit - I like to stay ahead of my publishing by a few chapters or so to avoid inconsistencies, bad spelling and grammar, and also not to write myself into a corner. If you think this story is worth some more of your time and have an account on this website, I suggest using the ever-helpful 'Story Alert' function to tell you when I update. To all others without an account, I suggest using bookmarks in your internet browser and checking again in a week's time. Again, my apologies, but I feel this is necessary to ensure the quality of this story. If you think this story is worth the effort, recommend it to your friends and to your associates in the forums you frequent. It would certainly make me feel very happy and grateful for your support.

Now that we have that out of the way - Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

...

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter III - Exploring The Roost**

...

Ezio woke up once more in a comfortable bed, having felt atrocious pain for the last few hours in every fibre of his being. He stared bemusedly at the high ceiling of the infirmary. Moonlight shone through the windows of stained glass, painting the shadowed room in many different colours.

_The moment I start to recognize individual bricks in the wall of a sickbay is the moment that I need to leave it. _

"You're awake." Sister Catherine approached in a businesslike fashion. She touched his forehead briefly. "Good. You seem to have recovered from whatever strange affliction the familiar contract caused in you. Now get up." She frowned at him. "I stayed up all night worried about you, Monsieur Auditore, not knowing what had happened to you. I hope you appreciate it. Now, how are you feeling?"

Ezio moved stiff muscles as he got up and realized he felt... surprisingly good. Better than he had in a very long time, actually. Aches and pains that had been constant companions for decades until he no longer cared about their existence had left him. He felt... _better_, in a simple sense of the word. As if the kinks in his sinews and muscles had been ironed out, leaving nothing but pure strength flowing through them.

"I feel... fine." He smiled at Sister Catherine as he leapt fluidly to his feet, his breath not even laboured, marvelling at the ease of his movements. "I haven't felt this good in years!"

Sister Catherine smiled at him. "Excellent; that means I have a good excuse to throw you out of here, Monsieur Auditore."

"Do I have to leave, Sister?" Ezio whined playfully. "I rather like it here. People fuss about me, there's food, and the bed is comfortable! What more could a man want?"

"Well, I don't know what a man wants, considering that I've never been one," she retorted, "but I know what _I_ want, and that is a good night's sleep without worrying about you dying the moment I leave your bedside!" She shooed him off. "Now go wash up and get dressed; the basin and mirror are over there. Jean left you some clothes next to it. Allez, allez, get going! My own bed is calling to me!"

Ezio chuckled as Sister Catherine bustled out of the door. _Right. Let's get out of the nice Sister's hair. I owe her that much, at least._ He stretched his arms happily. _I wonder what magic she used to heal all the aches that used to plague me. I wonder..._

He got his answer as soon as he reached the mirror, staring at his own reflection.

Ezio had gotten used to the many creases of worry that marred his forehead, the many wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, years and years of living a dangerous life adding to the strain he was put under. He'd gotten used to the fact that the older he got, the more he lost what Federico had jokingly called 'his only asset'. On one hand, it was a mark of pride to have lived to an old age of sixty-seven – many people living peaceful lives as farmers or artisans never reached his age, and he had fought and bled for five decades. Truly, he'd been blessed with good luck to grow old when many others didn't.

But Ezio had always been proud of his good looks. He knew that such a sentiment was prideful and vain, and yet it irked him to see his looks stripped away, bit by bit. For a long time, Ezio had no time to care – he had been hunting Templars, the Borgia, and Byzantines all his life, busy with the duties as the Grand Mentor of the Assassins, recruiting, training, killing and teaching.

And one day, Ezio had looked in the mirror and wondered how he had grown _so old_ in what felt like such a short time.

But the face that looked back at him _now_ was the exact same one that had received the wound from Vieri di Pazzi at the age of seventeen – young, smooth and brash, all the lines and the haggard look of old age gone, the healthy colour of a young man to his skin instead of the pallor of a laboured invalid.

And speaking of the scar... _Where was it?_

Ezio gingerly touched his upper lip, feeling skin as level as that of a newborn child's. The scar was gone, as if it had never existed. He ripped off his hospital shirt and examined the rest of his body, astonished. During his decades of fighting, he had accumulated an impressive collection of cuts, bruises and deeper wounds, some more severe than others, and many of them had left ugly scars all over his body. They were gone as well, all of them – even the burn mark around his ring finger that marked him as a brother of the Assassins had mysteriously vanished.

Ezio felt uneasy. Each scar had been a little memento from a fight, a bloody souvenir that reminded him of the mistakes he'd made in the past, encouraging him to be more careful the next time. To have them all disappear unsettled him. Only the strange runes carved onto the back of his left hand marred his skin.

"Monsieur Auditore!" a voice called from outside the door. "Are you done? I don't have all night!"

The chastised Assassin jumped, remembering who was waiting for him. "_Mi dispiace_, _signora_! I'll be right there!"

He quickly washed with the water from the basin and critically examined the clothes that had been laid out for him. Sturdy trousers, heavy boots, a clean white shirt and a sleeveless leather vest. He frowned. _What happened to my clothes? _

A few moments later, he closed the door behind himself quietly, adjusting the brown leather vest. "I'm rather sure that I didn't wear these clothes when I arrived here," he said carefully to the waiting healer.

Sister Catherine smiled crookedly at him. "You didn't. Your clothes were torn and soaked with blood; it would have been unhygienic for you to wear them again."

"What did you do with them, then?"

"We burned them. I'm sorry." She looked carefully at him. "Jean has the rest of your belongings, though. Your armour, weapons, and the things we found in your saddlebag next to the summoning circle that called you here. I hope you don't mind that I entrusted them to him." She frowned disapprovingly. "I refuse to allow weapons inside my infirmary. This place is meant to heal wounds, not cause them."

"I understand. _Professore_ Colbert has my things, you say?"

"Yes. He kept them locked up in his laboratory."

Ezio let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. Many of those things are very valuable to me, and some of them are quite dangerous. I'm glad they weren't lost when I came here." He bowed. "_Mille grazie, signora_. For everything."

"Ce n'est rien." The Sister examined him carefully. "You are not displeased with your... sudden change in appearance?"

Ezio looked back evenly. "Was that your doing, _signora_? Your magic?"

She chuckled. "I only wish that I could reverse the aging of man, as it seems to have happened to you, but unfortunately I cannot claim that talent for myself." She considered him. "Magic is a fickle thing, Monsieur Auditore. Sometimes it is a science requiring delicate precision and exact calculations, and at other times it is like a strange wild beast that no one can control."

Ezio chuckled. "A strange paradox."

She laughed, a cackling sound that betrayed a lot of good humour. "One that has fascinated us very much over the centuries, I can assure you. Your rejuvenation was one of the latter cases – in all my years of studying healing magic, I have never seen anything quite like it."

She raised a hand before he could ask anything else. "You should talk to Jean. The man is a tad... capricious, but his knowledge of the magical arts is undisputable. He knows more about magic now than I ever will in my lifetime – he _is_ a teacher at the Academy here, after all. You'll find his workshop in the western wing of the building on the ground floor." She frowned in amused mockery. "And now I hope that you will allow me some sleep, Monsieur. I'm rather tired of entertaining you in my infirmary."

Ezio bowed again, this time even deeper. "Again, thank you for all your kindness, _signora_. I will not forget it." He straightened up, smiling. "May I visit again some time?"

"I pray that I won't see you in here for a while, Monsieur Auditore," the plump Sister shot back as she marched through the door of her infirmary. "You were quite a tiresome patient, and you weren't even conscious for most of it! I tremble to think how bothersome you are when awake!"

Ezio laughed. "You wound me with your harsh words, _signora_, you truly do. Good night to you."

"Bonne nuit, Monsieur Auditore. May the Founder and His saints guide you."

And then she closed the door behind her, leaving him alone and thinking in the dark corridor.

...

Ezio walked briskly through the dark passages of the Academy, following his instincts as he searched for Professor Colbert's laboratory. If he concentrated hard enough, he could spot a glowing outline of the man, staff in hand, as he marched ahead, occasionally stopping to speak to some people, inexorably moving on towards the western wing of the large and confusing building.

Ezio frowned in annoyance as he moved. When he tried to explain to his closest friends how his famed 'senses' worked, he found that he couldn't. They were just too strange. Whenever Ezio was lost in a dead end, they would show him the way out of it. Whenever he sought an entrance to a hidden alcove, he would find a lever or a similar mechanism, glowing brightly in the eye of his mind. And when he concentrated hard enough on a location or on a person he was looking for, he would invariably find them, glowing golden in his surroundings, a tingling feeling telling him where to go. His senses were extraordinarily sharp; he could hear conversations held at the other end of a crowded street, spot a specific person in a crowd from the top of a cathedral's bell tower, and his nose was as sharp as that of a trained hunting dog's. People had trouble lying to him, as he could see who meant him harm with a single glance – red for foe and blue for friend, a shapeless grey for everyone else. He could even see into the past if he concentrated hard enough, images and shapes forming in his mind as he sought out patterns and events that interested him.

When he had told all of this once to Leonardo, his friend's eyes had lightened up with the manic curiosity that defined the eccentric inventor. "_Grandioso_, Ezio! It sounds almost like magic!"

But even Leonardo had been unable to explain it, even when he went over the collected Codex pages several times in a vain attempt to understand Ezio's strange senses, only finding vague references to an 'Eagle', scribbled by Altair in the margin of several parchments. It was just one of many mysteries that surrounded the fortress of Masyaf and Those Who Came Before, and one that Ezio had been unable to solve when he visited the Orient.

And now Ezio was mulling over the words of one of his oldest friends, wondering whether his joke had been truer than he himself believed.

_Magic...I wonder what Leonardo would have said to that. _He chuckled. _Knowing him, he'd probably try and learn everything he could about it, as excitable as always, and then try to make it work for one of his various inventions. Or all of them. I should probably do the same... Well, learn about magic, at least. That's something I can do, even if I don't have Leonardo's talent for tinkering. _

He noted that he'd walked quite a while without really paying attention to where he was going until he nearly walked into a heavy wooden door, his senses having led him here. Ezio knocked loudly. "_Professore_ Colbert, are you there?"

He heard a crack like a pistol shot behind the door followed by a litany of curses in this country's strange French, none of which he could recognize. A moment later the door was thrown open, revealing a harassed-looking Professor Colbert, his face, bald head and robes blackened by ash. "Yes! What is it?" He spotted Ezio, who was feeling rather disconcerted, and frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm Ezio, _professore_. Ezio Auditore da Firenze. Don't you remember me?" he asked, confused.

The teacher critically looked him up and down. "I remember you being older by at least fifty years."

"Something... happened to me because of the strange magic the young lady performed. Sister Catherine said you would know better than she did what exactly happened."

"Well, if Catherine told you to come to me, then I guess you really must be him. Come in, come in," the bald teacher grumbled, "let's not stand in doorways all night long, we have better things to do." There was another explosive bang from inside the laboratory and Colbert swore loudly as he hurried back inside. "Nom d'un chien! I thought I turned that thing off!"

Ezio cautiously stepped inside the workshop, ignoring his experience that screamed at him to run away from anything that even remotely sounded like gunshots. He looked around, amazed.

He'd rarely thought that he would ever find a room that was even more bizarre and exotic than Leonardo da Vinci's atelier, but it didn't hold a candle to the bric-a-brac that was Professor Colbert's laboratory. One wall of the high-ceilinged room was nothing but a large bookcase stuffed to the brim with scrolls and leather-bound tomes, another full of strange mechanical designs and blueprints. Another wall was nearly hidden behind a row of cupboards holding a collection of jars of assorted sizes, filled with powders, liquids, grains and other things that Ezio didn't recognize. The worktables were overflowing with opened books and parchments, vials of strangely coloured fluids standing next to a mortar and pestle, a strange apparatus that seemed to be boiling something greenish simmering over a small but intense fire. Mechanical contraptions, some of them quietly whirring and moving, some of them silent or broken into pieces, were scattered over another table. A skeleton of a winged creature hung under the ceiling, but it was no bird that Ezio had ever seen, reminding him more of a winged lizard the size of a horse. An open fireplace threw odd shadows in every corner of the room.

Ezio examined the skeleton, fascinated and perhaps even a little apprehensive until angry muttering caught his attention. "Quelle connerie! I'll have to replace my calcinatory. Again! Those are expensive, and my pay isn't exactly the highest... Mon dieu, the headmaster is going to talk my ear off about wasting academy funds first thing in the morning, I'm sure of it..."

Professor Colbert returned, towelling his face and rubbing off the ash on his face and bald head. "Forgive me, Monsieur Auditore," he said quickly, throwing the now blackened towel into a corner. "Alchemy is a temperamental art. It can even surprise those who have studied it for years and years." He smiled ruefully. "Although it has been a rather long time since I singed my own eyebrows off."

Ezio laughed. "I can sympathize, _professore_. I used to dabble a bit in it myself."

"Did you, now?" the teacher asked, obviously interested. "What kind of substances did you produce?"

Ezio grinned good-naturedly. "Well, I never found the secret of how to turn lead into gold, but I did have a talent for making explosives."

"An interesting talent for a banker to have," the teacher said casually, watching Ezio carefully over the top of his spectacles with steely grey eyes.

Ezio suddenly felt very uncomfortable, his feet shifting slightly under him. "I'm sorry, _professore_, what did you say?"

"Oh, nothing really," the teacher said amiably, though the good humour didn't quite reach his eyes. "You told us before that you came from a family of bankers, so I naturally assumed that it was your profession as well."

"In a way, you could say that I am," Ezio said warily. He wasn't exactly lying – he'd certainly made Roma and Constantinople flourish with his investments and had received handsome returns. 'Banker' was a good approximation of what he'd done during his life.

"How extraordinary," the Professor said quietly, walking over to a table, Ezio carefully following two steps after him. "You see, Monsieur Auditore, I took the liberty of going through your belongings while you were unconscious in the infirmary. I hope you don't mind – I saw no other way to ascertain your identity, as we couldn't in all honesty ask you, unconscious as you were! – and consider my surprise when I discover enough weaponry to make even a member of the Queen's Musketeer Regiment green with envy!"

Professor Colbert made a grand gesture, showing the sword, daggers, throwing knives and pouches full of bombs of varying makes and size lying on one of the worktables, Ezio's hidden blades and gun bracers lying neatly side by side next to pouches filled with poison, medicine and bullets; the crossbow and quiver full of bolts at the very back, carefully put out of reach.

The Professor picked up one of Ezio's silver knives, casually balancing it on his fingertip with worrying expertise. "What lawless lands your home must be, if every moneylender has to go as heavily armed as a murderer."

It was then that Ezio was reminded of the moment when he'd seen Professor Colbert for the first time, walking into the infirmary with the assured gait of a predator. Ezio had seen it before in practiced killers. It mattered very little what their motivations were, or if your own intentions were good or bad – as soon as you knew that you had the ability to kill every single human being in your sight, your movements _changed_. A hardening of the eyes as they roamed around, looking for threats and escape routes, an occasional shift in stance that denoted a readiness for combat, the twitch of fingers towards weapons, hidden or not. Ezio, a man who had fought and killed all his life, knew these signs well.

When Ezio looked into Colbert's grey eyes, he knew that this man was as much a killer as he was, the bumbling teacher nothing more than a facade to fool those who might mean him harm. And he knew that Colbert was aware of his own true nature as well.

"I trust, of course, that these weapons are meant to be used only to defend yourself?" the teacher said politely, holding out the throwing knife hilt first, his eyes never leaving Ezio's for even a moment.

Ezio took it slowly. No sudden movements. "I have only ever wielded them in my defence and that of the innocent against oppression."

"You must have quite a lot of oppression back home, then, if you carry enough weapons to start a war by your lonesome," the Professor said drily, the hint of steel in his voice obvious underneath the sarcasm.

"Quite right," Ezio agreed soberly. "Scoundrels abounded in my home, both common and high-born. But don't worry, _professore_," he continued, throwing the knife in one fluid movement, hitting the centre of an anatomy drawing pinned to the wall, piercing its chest dead centre. "I promise that as long as I am not attacked first, none here shall come to harm by my hand."

The teacher hadn't even flinched when the knife flew past his face by a mere inch or two. "Can I trust you on that?"

"I give you my word as a man of honour," Ezio said solemnly.

"Good. That's all I wanted." And then Colbert smiled, the facade of the easily distracted teacher reappearing as if nothing had happened. "By all means, take your things, Monsieur Auditore. I have to say that I was quite fascinated by some of them... I think I have your armour stashed in a cupboard somewhere as well, just let me check..."

As Ezio reclaimed his weapons he suppressed a shiver. For some reason, the Professor (who was now happily chattering away about the beautiful design of Leonardo's hidden blades) unsettled him. He would have to be careful around this man – Professor Colbert didn't seem to trust him very much. He would have to be careful not to prove himself to be a threat. Ezio had fought many enemies in his long life and survived, but even he wouldn't wager his own life against a man who could conjure a firestorm at will. He might have been reckless, but he wasn't stupid.

He felt much better when all his belts and pouches were back in their usual places, the sword and dagger hanging by his side, the throwing knives in their sheathes, the crossbow and quiver on his back. Their weight was a reassurance in an unknown world. He picked up one of his bracers, keen eyes watching him intently.

"I admit that I examined those quite carefully while we waited for you to wake up," Colbert said good-humouredly. "I even tried putting them on myself, but all I did was tangle up my own fingers in the straps. Quite tricky to put on, I gather."

Ezio chuckled as he quickly put it on his left forearm, tightening the leather straps attached to metal. "They're even trickier to use. If you hadn't been careful, you might have easily lost a finger or two."

"Why would that happen?"

Ezio flexed a muscle in a movement born of long experience and the hidden blade slid out, a foot of ornate steel leaping forward and catching the dim light of the flames from the fireplace. "That's why, _professore_."

Colbert's eyes had widened considerably. He leant forward, lightly turning Ezio's wrist this way and that, examining the blade and its bracer intently. "Fascinating... I don't think I have ever seen a mechanism like this before." He looked up sharply. "How does it work?"

Ezio had the decency to look embarrassed. "In all honesty, _professore_? I have no idea. I had a friend who designed these weapons for me, based on an heirloom left behind by my father. He was... a true genius," Ezio said wistfully. "No one else would have been able to create these blades for me but him."

"Truly, the design of the springs in here is a work of beauty," Colbert muttered as he returned to examine the mechanism of the hidden blade intently. "A friend, you say? I'm sure I would like to meet this man. He seems like an extraordinarily clever inventor."

Ezio relaxed his tense muscles, the blade sliding back with a hiss of metal. "He's dead, _professore_," he said curtly. "Six years already."

There was an awkward silence as Colbert blinked. "I'm terribly sorry, Monsieur Auditore."

Ezio smiled, a forced grimace that was born more out of politeness than real warmth. "Don't be. He accepted death with a calm I've never seen in a man before or since."

Still, Leonardo's death of age and illness in France had hurt him far more than he ever thought it would, considering how many people he'd seen die in his life. It hadn't been entirely unexpected, but it still rankled at him. He had been unable to do anything.

Ezio suddenly chuckled, remembering something. It was easier to remember things now, as if the fog of age had been lifted from his mind. "He left me a letter before the end, you see. You know what he wrote? 'As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so life well used brings happy death.'"

Colbert smiled. "Wise words from a wise friend."

"Agreed." Ezio put on the second bracer, the blade jutting out rapidly and back. They were in perfect condition. Ezio had always taken good care of them.

Ezio held out an open hand. "Thank you, _professore_, for taking care over my things. They mean... a lot to me."

Colbert eyed him warily for a moment before he clasped forearms with Ezio, nodding once. "I'm glad to have been of service."

"Ah, could you help me with another thing, _professore_?"

"Of course."

Ezio pointed to the bits and pieces of Altair's black armour scattered across the tabletop, looking slightly sheepish. "I can carry my weapons easily, but that armour is rather heavy and cumbersome to wear during the day. Would you keep it safe for me?"

"Certainly!" Colbert answered, waving him over to a large oaken cupboard. He snapped his fingers, the heavy doors opening all by themselves. "Even though I would suggest wearing it, by all means, you can entrust it to me."

Ezio paused in stowing away his armour, breastplate in his arms and throwing an uncertain look at the professor. "Why would you say that?"

The teacher smirked, an amused look dancing in his eyes. "You'll probably need all the armour you can get your hands on, considering you'll be Mademoiselle de la Vallière's familiar."

Ezio felt his stomach sink. "Why? Is she violent?"

"Oh, she is," Colbert said casually. "And she's quite powerful as well. She has a temper like a tickled dragon and the fire to match." His smile widened. "I suggest you watch your step around her."

_That's right, I'm a familiar to a mage now_, Ezio thought, the realization hitting him like a punch to the chest. He remembered the casual ease with which Colbert had set the air aflame and shuddered. _That _can't_ be a good thing. _

"Say, _professore_," he said quickly, trying to think of other, less worrying things as he finished securing the straps of his armour and locked the cupboard. "Sister Catherine told me to talk to you about my changed appearance." He gestured vaguely to his own face. "She said it was... rather unusual, and that you would know more about it that her."

"Sister Catherine? Oh, bless that woman's soul, she's absolutely incredible with the healing arts, but the magical traditions and more complicated arcane theory are not exactly her specialty. Let me see..." He grabbed Ezio's chin, tilting it like a street doctor in Florence would, the examination quick and efficient. "You have become younger, and your scars have disappeared, yes? I remember that you had one on your upper lip before you sealed the familiar contract."

Marvelling at the man's observational skill and memory, Ezio nodded. "That's right. All my scars are gone. I feel stronger, faster than before."

"Hmm... Well then, that means that I have absolutely no idea what's going on. Oh, don't look at me like that, Monsieur Auditore!" Colbert threw his arms up in annoyance. "I may be considered particularly clever by my peers, but I don't know everything there is to this to know about magic! The summoning of a human instead of a beast as a familiar is already unusual enough as it is without the interference of Mademoiselle de la Vallière's magic changing you. It's just too strange! I have absolutely nothing to go on, as irritating as it may be."

"Would this perhaps be a clue?" Ezio took off his armoured gauntlet, showing him the runes carved into the back of his left hand. They still itched, just like old wounds.

"Perhaps," Colbert commented, dragging out a loose piece of parchment from a large stack of papers that was wobbling perilously. He copied down the runes expertly in a matter of minutes, staring at them intently when he was done. "Étrange... I'm sure that I have seen this design somewhere before..."

"What do you mean?" Ezio, getting more and more annoyed with the muttering and cryptic phrases. He'd had enough of it for one life; he didn't need it in another.

"Well, Monsieur Auditore," Colbert said absentmindedly, not taking his eyes off the strange runes, "I think that I will have to visit the library once more..."

"And what shall I do in the meantine?"

"I'm sure that Mademoiselle de la Vallière will welcome you."

"Now?" Ezio asked, disturbed. "It's the middle of the night, _professore_!"

"Et alors? You're her familiar, aren't you? Where else would you go? Now, _do_ go away, Monsieur Auditore," Colbert said, making shooing motions as he marched over to his worktable. "I have a calcinatory to replace and your dilemma is probably going to rack my brain for quite a while if I can't find an answer. I'll see you tomorrow morning, yes? Goodnight!"

And with that last dismissal, the eccentric teacher began rummaging among his papers, Ezio's presence completely forgotten. Ezio shook his head, amused despite his annoyance. Perhaps the absentminded teacher was more than just a facade.

"_Buena notte_, _professore_," he said, moving to close the door the door behind him.

"Monsieur Auditore!" Colbert called out.

"Yes?"

Professor Colbert hadn't turned around from his worktable, still as a statue. The only thing to be heard was the crackle of the fireplace, shadows dancing on the wall.

"Those blades of yours... they're not really designed for self-defence, are they?"

Ezio just closed the door behind him, refusing to answer.

He would have to be careful. Very careful. Jean Colbert was a very observant, very clever, and above all a very _dangerous_ man.

...

_I should have asked him for the way to Louise's room first_, Ezio grumbled. _I never do the obvious thing, do I?_

Ezio was on the highest roof of the main building, balancing precariously on the ledge of the highest bell tower, the courtyard where he'd been summoned a few hundred feet below. When Ezio had first seen the size of the main building, he thought it was one of those Gothic cathedrals that the Germans and French liked to build, it was just that huge – but it was as tall as it was wide, with large and pondering stonework, many smaller wings jutting out of the main nave, creating a twisting maze of stone arches, tiled roofs, and unshakeable walls. Ezio suspected that the main building had been the first one built, many hundreds of years ago, and that more and more were added as time went on.

He could see _everything_ from up here. The twistedly complicated main building; the other houses of the village set around the academy like children's play blocks, its streets winding, all heading to the huge edifice at its centre; the five stone walls enclosing the city, forming a pentagon, a gate in each wall and high guard towers at the corners, and beyond them green forests stretching out as far as the eye could see in the dark night.

Ezio marvelled at the size of the academy. When the teacher had told him that he was at the elite magical school of a whole country, he had expected it to be in the capital itself, close to the government's seat of power. He hadn't expected it to be a large village (or a small town, however you saw it) all by itself.

Right. Ezio shook himself, reminding himself why he'd climbed up here in the freezing dead of night in the first place.

_Because climbing towers was fun and you haven't done it in years. _

Well, that was a bonus, certainly, he realized with annoyance, but he was really looking for Louise's room.

The world flared with darkness, the the contours of dark buildings replaced the moonlight. Ezio looked carefully at his surroundings. The streets were completely empty. Unsurprising – what time was it, anyway?

Ezio let his Vision peter out, glancing at the sky. Two moons hung silently above him, one a luscious green and the other a bloody red. That had been all the proof Ezio needed to understand that he wasn't in his own world anymore. If only he could find the Apple that had brought him to this place, perhaps he would find a way to understand _where_ exactly he was...

He shook his head. He'd deal with that later. First, find the ground under his feet.

His sight flared back on, and he looked at the buildings around him, concentrating on the image of the young girl that had called him here. It didn't take long for a window to suddenly glow a bright blue, the back of Ezio's left hand tingling.

Ezio was prepared to leap off the bell tower when he spotted something at the corner of his vision. He looked up into the sky. Something... golden was up there, flying. Ezio narrowed his eyes, willing them to magnify the odd silhouette.

A dragon. An honest-to-goodness _dragon_, like the one slain by St. George, was flying in the sky above him, a diminutive figure riding on its back. It was flying in circles high above him, and Ezio had a gut feeling its rider was observing him. Probably a she, but he couldn't be sure at the distance.

Two could play at that game. He raised a hand in greeting, waving sardonically. The figure seemed surprised, but raised its own crooked staff in response a moment later. Nothing else happened, the strange lizard still soaring in the sky above.

Well, at least Ezio now knew what the strange skeleton in Colbert's laboratory had been. _How reassuring_, he thought sarcastically, glancing over the ledge of the roof.

He leapt off it without a second thought, the wind whistling in his ears as he plummeted downwards, the ground racing towards him at the speed of a flying eagle.

God, how he had _missed_ this feeling.

He landed with a dull thump inside the hay cart. For a moment, Ezio just lay there, enjoying the feeling of soft hay around him. It was very nostalgic, in a way. Some of his greatest successes had ended with him landing in mounds of hay, as strange as that sounded. He hadn't performed the Leap of Faith in ten years now. Doing it again made his blood race with excitement.

He jumped out of the cart, dusting off odd strands of hay off his vest and trousers in an absent-minded manner. They were all suddenly blown off in a strong gust of wind. Ezio's hidden blades leapt out of their bracers as he recognized the dragon from before, its wings pumping hard as if it had just caught itself out of a steep dive, straining to stay in the air a mere ten paces away from him. The rider was tightly hanging onto its neck; her bluish hair dishevelled and an expression of utter shock on her face as she stared at Ezio.

...Had she tried to save him when he jumped?

The dragon settled down carefully in front of the Assassin, but made no move to attack or come closer, only looking at him intently with glinting sapphire eyes. The hidden blades snapped back into their bracers. Ezio eyed the creature warily. Its maw was wide enough to cleave him in two in one bite, armour be damned. He honestly had no idea how to fight a thing of this size except to flee, and even then it could probably snap him up like a running deer. Feeling completely helpless was... disconcerting.

There was a soft thump on the grass as the rider leapt off the animal's back, now more composed. She walked up to Ezio, her expression now utterly impassive and a white-knuckled hand firmly gripping the shepherd's crook in her hand. "How?" she asked quietly. She seemed agitated, her blue eyes questioning.

Ezio considered the rider, who barely reached his chest, keeping the dragon in his sight just in case. Paranoia was a wonderful thing. "How what?" he retorted curtly, unwilling to get questioned by someone he didn't even know.

"Survival," she said, her voice soft as a breath and nearly impossible to hear. "Magic?"

Ezio snorted. In disdain or amusement, he couldn't really tell. "Magic? Heaven forbid, nothing like that." He smiled at the young girl, reasoning he could give that much away. "Just training, skill, and a lifetime of experience. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Commoner?" she asked quietly, her eyes never blinking once.

"Er... probably. I wouldn't know; I'm not of these lands." He made a quick bow, keeping it short. No need to present his bare neck to the dragon any longer than necessary. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze, at your service."

The girl made no bow or curtsy in response, just continuing to look at him intently without saying a word.

Ezio shifted uncomfortably. "Well, _madamigella_, I bid you good night. Unfortunately, I have an appointment to keep. By your leave." He bowed again, turning on his heel and walking briskly towards the main entrance of the academy, feeling both pairs of eyes following him. He wanted to get away from those two. The dragon was simply dangerous, but the rider was just... strange.

"Tabitha," he heard her quietly say behind him. He turned around quickly. The girl kept staring at him intently, not having moved an inch.

"Is that your name?" Ezio asked cautiously.

"Yes." She pointed with her shepherd's crook at the dragon by her side. "Sylphid."

The dragon nodded its scaly head once, its blue scales winking in the moonlight. Ezio now realized why the dragon unsettled him this much. The creature was not only large and clawed, but it was far more intelligent than any beast he'd ever seen, especially if it was able to understand human speech.

_Well, I don't think she'll order it to eat me whole if she bothered to introduce herself_, Ezio thought sardonically, this time performing a longer, more elegant bow. "A pleasure to meet you both." He smiled charmingly at the young girl. "Perhaps we'll see each other again tomorrow, _si_? Until then, _buena notte_."

The girl said nothing, still staring at him. Ezio quickly took his leave after another moment, marching away with a quick step. That girl unsettled him greatly. Was every person using magic strange in one way or another? He hoped not. He had enough trouble for a lifetime; no need to add any more.

Ezio continued grimly onwards. _Let's see how eccentric this new 'master' of mine is. _

Behind him, he heard leathery wings flap as the blue dragon took flight once more.

...

She looked so small.

Of course, she hadn't been very tall when he'd first met her. If it wasn't for her waist-length hair, he would have assumed that she was a boy, considering her short figure. But asleep she looked even smaller, like a frail bird hiding in its nest, the way she was curled up in her bed, the strawberry blonde hair flowing loosely.

Ezio considered her, closing the door quietly behind him. The green moon was shining through the clouds and her window, pale light making the bed covers bright as silver and stinging the eye.

He wouldn't call her pretty, because it would have been a lie. When she had first talked to him, she had been condescending, angry, her temper lashing out at him like a whip. It was difficult to forget that kind of first impression. She might have been physically attractive (for some tastes, but probably not Ezio's), but the old Assassin (for he was old, no matter how young he may have looked now) still thought of her like a snake that might bite him at any moment.

He looked around her room. A writing desk with ink and quill, a few shelves full of scrolls and books, a window framed in cast iron looking out onto the yard and the town outside. He crept over to the cupboard, opening it. Nothing more than a few school uniforms in there, along with assorted cloaks and a few changes of clothes. She seemed to live frugally, then. Strange. He would have expected her to be pampered like a princess.

He heard the bed covers rustle and silently closed the cupboard, stepping back as quiet as a ghost. Louise had sat up in her bed, looking at the moon. She hadn't noticed him. He shifted slightly, and the quiet tinkle of weapons moving in their sheaths was all it took to attract her attention.

They looked at each other silently for a moment. She seemed remarkably composed for a woman who had just found a strange man in her bedroom in the middle of the night.

Ezio had no inkling as to the protocol involving a master and a familiar. It was completely unfamiliar territory. What was expected of him?

The Assassin bowed courteously for lack of a better thing to do. He seemed to be doing this a lot lately. "Your wish, mistress?"

Louise just looked at him for a moment before speaking. "Take the laundry basket and get it to the scullery. My clothes need to be washed."

Whatever Ezio had been expecting, it hadn't been that. He chuckled. That was an easy duty to fulfil, at least. No magic, no crazy dragons or eccentric professors, and absolutely no violence. People still needed to get their clothes washed, just like back home. It seemed that this world wasn't as unfamiliar as he first thought it to be.

"As my mistress commands." He picked up the laundry basket and left through the door, closing it quietly behind him. No need to disturb the girl's sleep any more. She looked tired.

As soon as he had left, the laundry basket hefted in his arms, he broke out in guffawing laughter.

...

Ezio was getting more and more irritated by the minute. It was infuriating. Why couldn't he find this damn scullery? He'd been wandering through the winding corridors of the academy for nearly an hour now and had been unable to make neither head nor tail of the way things were arranged here. The building was huge and complicated, winding staircases and dark passages irregularly lit by flickering torches that Ezio suspected were enchanted, because there was no one replacing them. He would have simply asked someone for the way, but the building was deserted, students and servants both asleep.

Ezio shifted the laundry basket in his arms, sighing. He was sure that he'd seen this part of the academy already. Twice. He'd try the ground floor. It was far more likely that the servants were quartered there, anyway.

It was then that he heard quiet voices in the corridor ahead of him. Ezio grinned, elated. Finally, someone who could show him the way! He walked quickly towards the voices, eager to ask for help, only to slow down when he spotted the scene before him.

A girl and a boy standing very close to each underneath the arch of a doorway. Inappropriately close, in fact. The boy, a blond youth with a rose in hand, was whispering sweet nothings in the ear of the smaller brunette, the girl giggling and blushing.

Ezio smiled and made to move past them. Young love. He'd find someone else to ask. He could well remember his own adventures when he was their age. No need to disturb _il amore_ when there was no pressing need to.

As he tried to walk past them quietly, the boy's head snapped up, glowering fiercely. "Who goes there?" he challenged loudly. Ezio rolled his eyes. If he was trying to intimidate him, he was failing.

He stepped into the torchlight. "Nobody special, _Messere_." He smiled at the two of them. "Just a humble journeyman passing through."

The girl's eyes had widened at his appearance and the boy looked displeased. He'd probably expected the two of them to be left alone. "What are you doing here in the dead of night?" he demanded.

"I could ask the two of you the same."

"Answer my questions, commoner!" the youth barked.

Ezio raised an eyebrow. Touchy. "Just looking for the way to the scullery," he said lightly, holding up the basket of laundry for inspection. "I don't know my way around here."

"Oh, you're one of the servants," the blond said disdainfully. "New here, aren't you?"

Ezio nodded, not having missed the youth's tone. He didn't like it.

"Well, I don't really know where the servants fulfil their duties, exactly, but I would suggest going to the Northern Hall where the kitchens are. I'm sure you'll find someone to give you directions." He turned back to the girl, though he was still glaring at Ezio. "Well, what are you waiting for? Don't dawdle about!"

Ezio inclined his head. "Thank you." He moved past the two of them, suddenly stopping and turning around. "Ah, one more thing."

The youth whirled around, irritation on his face. "What is it, _commoner_?"

Ezio smiled slightly. "I would suggest you find a more secluded meeting place for your... dalliance," he said in a light tone of voice. "I might not be the only one who wanders about the halls tonight, and you seem to have gone to such great trouble to hide your meeting. Such a shame if someone found out by complete accident, no?"

The girl flushed a dark red while the youth's fingers clenched on his rose. "You insolent... commoner!" he seethed. "I ought to–"

"Guiche," the girl said quietly, sounding embarrassed. "He's right. It's already late, and I'm tired. Let's just go to sleep and talk tomorrow."

"You are tired?" Guiche asked with melodramatic concern, waving his rose about. "Oh, sweet Katie, you should have told me! Why, if you fell ill because of my foolishness, I would never forgive myself! Such a beautiful rose should not be forced into standing out here in the cold! What if something _happened_ to you?"

Ezio watched, dumbfounded. _Please tell me I wasn't like that when I was his age._

"Well then, _Messer e madamigella_, I bid you both good night," Ezio interrupted the overblown dramatic declaration of love he saw coming, bowing quickly. He smiled at the young girl. Katie, wasn't it? He would remember that. "I wish you pleasant dreams, young lady."

The youth bristled. "Watch your tongue, commoner! You are speaking to a noble of Tristain!"

"Noble or not, beauty is always appreciated," Ezio said, grinning. "Good night to the both of you."

As he walked away, he heard the young man mutter in anger. "How dare he speak so familiarly to you? The nerve of some of these commoners! Oafs, the lot of them."

"He seemed nice, though..."

"A charmer, no doubt," the youth said disdainfully, his voice fainting away in the distance. "You shouldn't listen to their kind; they're only trouble."

Ezio couldn't help but chuckle. Well, the hypocrisy in the nobility was the same here as his own home. How reassuring.

"Monsieur Auditore?" a shocked voice asked. "Is that you?"

He looked up and spotted a young girl in a maid's uniform carrying a few bed covers, her eyes wide with surprise. He tried to remember her name. "Miss Siesta?"

"It _is_ you!" she exclaimed happily. "I almost didn't recognize you, you look so young!" She frowned worriedly, an expression that became her quite well. "What happened to you?"

Ezio shrugged uncomfortably, still holding the basket in both hands. "I don't know," he said simply, "and neither does the _professore_. It's quite unsettling, to be honest."

"I'll believe that. Professor Colbert is a very clever man." _Far too clever_, Ezio thought acidly as Siesta looked even more worried. "If even he doesn't know... But you're not hurting anymore?"

"I'm fine," he reassured her quickly. "All my wounds have healed. Now, I don't mean to be rude," he held up the laundry basket sheepishly, "but do you know where the scullery is? I have to deliver these clothes there."

"I'm on my way there myself! Just come along, I'll show you!" And with that, the cheerful nurse marched off, Assassin with his laundry basket in tow.

It took quite a while for the two of them to reach the scullery, a surprisingly large room with many different tubs and sinks, drainage pipes and the like to wash the clothes and plates of all the students and teachers of the academy. There were a few other servants there, who all greeted Siesta warmly and viewed Ezio with interest, and perhaps slight suspicion. As Siesta started washing clothes, she chatted to Ezio about anything and everything. Without really wanting to, he learned quite a lot about her. Sister Catherine had been right; the young girl _was_ quite the chatterbox.

She came from a small village in the south of Tristain, as the country was called, by the name of Tarbes. She was the fifth of nine farmer's children and had left the village at an early age to seek employ in the city, thinking that one less mouth to feed would help out her family more than another hand on the farm, sending back most of her earnings. She'd found work at the Academy and had caught Sister Catherine's eye because of her diligence, who allowed her to help out in the infirmary.

"So you're not a mage?" Ezio asked, confused.

"Of course not!" the girl said, looking shocked. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, you were helping out a healer, so I assumed–"

Siesta laughed. "No, no, I'm not a noble. I earn my money as a servant here and help out Sister Catherine when I can with planting herbs and rolling bandages." She smiled wistfully as she washed clothes (Ezio had tried helping out, but had been forced to admit that he was more a hindrance than a help). "If I was a noble, I could help my family far more than the few meagre sous I send home every month... But it's not that bad!" she said quickly when she saw Ezio's expression. "Many commoners don't even get the chance to work for the nobility! We may have a lot of work, but the pay is good! It's not that bothersome, really."

"So it may seem," Ezio muttered quietly, and Siesta quickly changed the subject, talking about the wondrous sights of the academy; the library, the great dining hall, the Vestri court, the Founder's Chapel, the shops and artisans in the village... Ezio couldn't but feel that she was trying to fill a void and he simply listened with a polite smile, absorbing as much information as he could and occasionally cracking a wry joke to make Siesta laugh.

After a while, though, the young servant looked at Ezio and smiled impishly. "So, Monsieur Auditore! You've heard quite enough about me, now it's _your_ turn to tell me something about yourself!" She leant forward, interested. "Are you a soldier?"

Ezio was taken aback. "A soldier?"

"Well, you must be, why else would you carry so many weapons?" she said, her tone sounding far too reasonable. "You wouldn't carry them if you didn't need them, right?"

"For a very long time, I was a merchant and moneylender," Ezio explained quickly. He didn't want her to spread rumours about his true occupation. "After that, I became a farmer."

"A farmer?" Siesta said, her eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," he said proudly. He'd always liked the peace he found in the vineyard with Sofia and his children. "My wine was some of the best in the Toscana."

"Toscana?" She frowned at the unfamiliar word. "Where is that?"

Ezio was again reminded that he wasn't home anymore. "A country back in my homeland. Don't worry about it."

"So why the swords and knives?" Siesta asked curiously.

Ezio shrugged. "I used to travel a lot. The roads weren't always safe."

Siesta nodded. "That makes sense. When you want to travel to the big cities and to foreign lands, you always need to hire guards. There's brigands and cutthroats everywhere between here and the capital." She sighed. "I'm rather disappointed though."

"And why would that be?"

"You're not a soldier!" Siesta exclaimed, pouting. "Soldiers always tell the best stories!"

Ezio couldn't help but feel amused. "And what makes you think that I don't have a tale for you?"

And so he sat there on the worktable, legs dangling comfortably, telling the young maid stories from his travels. As Mentor of the Assassins, he had travelled far and wide across the known world and had many amusing stories to choose from, even if you omitted those which had to deal with the secret war with the Templars. Siesta listened intently to the stories of beautiful Roma and exotic Constantinople, to his descriptions of tombs, buildings, markets, caverns and the colourful people he'd met. For someone who liked to talk, she could also be a surprisingly good listener.

Both of them never noticed the time fly until Siesta realized that there were no more clothes to hang up to dry. "Goodness!" she said, aghast. "It's that early in the morning already? I have to go to the kitchen; Marteau will be waiting for me!"

"The cook?" Ezio asked, smiling.

Siesta nodded as she rapidly folded up Louise's clothes. "He is a strict man! If we're late, he makes us work more with no pay! You should get back too," she ordered, pushing the laundry basket with the dried clothes into his arms. "The students have to wake up at dawn for breakfast, so you'd better wake up Mademoiselle de la Vallière!"

"Why would I do that?" he asked, puzzled.

Siesta looked at him as if he was stupid. "Why, you're her familiar, aren't you? Don't you have to take care of her?"

"Do I? Nobody really told me what a familiar is supposed to do."

"Just ask Mademoiselle de la Vallière, I'm sure she'll fill you in! I have to hurry now; good luck!" With a quick wave, the maid hurried away, leaving an apprehensive Ezio behind with a basket full of laundry smelling of lavender, not really knowing what to do.

_Good luck_, he thought, considering how to deal with a suspicious teacher that could conjure fire at will, a dragon the size of a small house and its worryingly quiet rider, and not to mention his master's temper.

He sighed. _I'll probably need it. _

_...  
_

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (May 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

The phrase '_As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so life well used brings happy death,_' is a direct quote from the first of many notebooks written by Leonardo da Vinci. His writings are in the public domain.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	4. Chapter IV – Growing Talons

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the two original works, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

Good day or good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and a warm welcome to all new and returning readers of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_. As promised, the fourth chapter is now published a week after the last one, and I hope that I can make this into my regular update schedule; one chapter a week. However, don't get your hopes up - my exams are still malevolently looming on the horizon, and they take up far more of my time than I would like. Still, I will do my best not to disappoint you.

To those who left them, thank you very much for your encouraging reviews, and to all others who read this story, thank you very much as well - the number of people to have read my story encouraged me as much as the feedback left in the reviews. Thank you!

This chapter is the last one where I will definitely follow the canon storyline of _Familiar of Zero_. I will soon start melding the two storylines of Assassin's Creed and Familiar of Zero into something new in the next chapters. Whether this is a good or bad thing, I don't know, which I why I would very much appreciate your feedback. All opinions welcome!

In other news, I have published another story. It's called _Miserly Old Man, Trickster Fox_, dealing with the _Naruto_ universe. The writing style is very similar, though I do try to be more humourous in that other story. If that's your cup of tea, don't hesitate to take a look! Now, on with the story.

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

...

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter IV - Growing Talons  
**

...

"_Madamigella_, wake up, please."

Louise groaned and hid her head under the covers. She didn't want to wake up. She hadn't slept well; a late night and strange dreams had troubled her sleep. A heavy hand touched her shoulder and she threw it off, still not fully awake.

"Éléonore, let me sleep for a bit," she grumbled, snuggling into her covers. "Five more minutes..."

"_Madamigella_, it's already dawn," the voice continued. Someone shook her shoulder again, sounding reproachful and slightly annoyed. "I was told you had to attend classes. Aren't you going to go to breakfast?"

Breakfast? Classes? ...Wasn't she at home with Mother and Father and her sisters?

Louise started blinking rapidly, sleep leaving her very quickly. Hold on just a moment – since when did her older sister have a _man's_ voice?

She shrieked and fell out of bed in a tangle of bed covers. When she managed to free herself, she spotted a young man standing in her room, wearing a disconcerting amount of weapons all over his body. "_Grazie a Dio_," he muttered, sounding relieved and annoyed at the same time. "I thought I was never going to get you to wake up. What is it with the youth of today? All lazing about, not using the time they have..."

"Who in the Founder's name are you!" she yelled at him, trying to cover herself up as much as she could with the bed covers. Even though she was wearing her nightclothes, that little detail mattered little in her mind.

The man blinked at her, black eyes surprised. "It's me, Ezio. Don't you remember me?"

Louise didn't, which only increased her horror. What had she _done_ last night? "Why are you in my room?"

The man threw up his arms in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "_Merda!_ I'm supposed to be your familiar, remember? Ezio Auditore da Firenze. You summoned me a few days ago!"

Louise blinked a few times. "Liar."

The young man bristled. "And why, _prego_, would you call me a liar?"

"The man I summoned was far older than you," Louise said, her voice getting firmer. "He was _old_. You can't be more than twenty! And he had white hair," she added after a moment, feeling a bit stupid for stating the obvious.

The man rolled his eyes. "I know exactly how old I looked before, _madamigella_. It was my face, after all." He made a few vague movements in the air with his hands, frustrated at being unable to explain himself. "Your... _magic_ has made me young again. I don't understand it either."

"My magic did this to you?" Louise asked, her tone doubting. Her magic had never really worked before, why would it do so now?

"Yes!" The man ripped off one of his armoured gloves, shoving the back of his hand under her nose. "See these signs? They appeared when we made the contract!"

Louise studied the runes engraved in the man's hand. They looked genuine. "So I really did summon you?"

"How often will I have to repeat myself?" he asked, genuine irritation in his voice now. "You did! Now, do you plan on eating breakfast, or are you just going to sit there and stare at me all day long?"

"Fine," she grumbled, getting up in a huff. "Help me get dressed."

Her familiar gave her a flat look. "How old are you?"

She glared at him. "I'm seventeen. Your point?"

"Seventeen, and you can't even dress yourself?" Her familiar grinned in what she couldn't help but think was an insolent manner. "Are you really that childish, or is it because you want a man to dress you?"

"Don't question my orders!" she said hotly. She looked at him critically. "Besides, you're not a man, you're my familiar. It's as if I would get embarrassed dressing in front of my dog."

"...Is that so?" he said, his tone exceedingly polite. "Well, this dog will be going to the dining hall and wait for you to get dressed by yourself, _madamigella_. By your leave." He bowed mockingly and walked out the door.

"Get back in here!" she yelled furiously after him.

"Woof, woof, I can't hear you!" her familiar called over his shoulder, laughing uprariously.

Louise was half tempted to run after him and hex him until he was left as nothing more than a bloody smear on the wall, but she realized running through the school's corridors in her nightclothes would be a far greater embarrassment than not disciplining an unruly familiar.

Furious, she went to find her own clothes and get dressed by herself.

...

Ezio chuckled as he walked towards the dining hall. The nerve of that girl! It was both amusing and worrying, the way she treated him. He snorted. 'Dog' indeed. That young lady had absolutely no idea who she was dealing with. But then again, he had to admit, neither did he. He speculated what magic she was capable of... Colbert had seemed convinced of her power.

He wondered if he was going to get lost again when he suddenly passed an open balcony. He grinned, and a moment later he was leaping over the rooftops of the Academy, enjoying the feeling of the wind and the warmth of the rising sun on his face.

He jumped from one roof to a lower one, dampening his fall with a perfectly executed roll, immediately continuing his sprint at a full tilt. He grinned fiercely. He couldn't remember scaling and running this fast. His mind and body felt... quicker, somehow, ever since he had accepted Louise's contract. Was it her strange magic that influenced him? Or did he just feel faster in comparison to how slow he had been when he'd grown old?

He ignored those pressing questions for the moment, seeing as no one could answer them yet, and continued to climb and run in the general direction of the dining hall. He spotted the telltale signs of pigeons resting on a ledge and smiled.

For a mere moment, he hung still in the air, gravity and momentum battling for dominance until gravity won, sending him hurtling down to earth. He landed in a mound of freshly cut grass and climbed out, humming cheerfully. _I don't seem to have lost my touch_, he thought with childlike glee.

It was only when he finished patting the cut grass off his clothes that he noticed the waiting students idly sitting or standing in the courtyard in front of the entrance to the dining hall, looking absolutely stunned. Quite a few were openly gaping at him, others muttering amongst themselves or pointing fingers at him.

Ezio met their gazes and shrugged widely, arms out. "What?"

That seemed to break them out of their stupor, the students continuing on their way to the dining hall. Ezio leaned against the open entrance, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of the sun. The students would occasionally throw glances at him as they passed by when they thought he wasn't looking, whispering behind held hands, but his hearing was far sharper than they gave him credit for.

"_Do you think he's a scholar?_"

"_No scholar carries that many weapons on him... Perhaps a travelling sellsword, you think?_"

"_Nah, don't think so. I bet he's a retainer to one of the professors._"

"_Did you see that jump, though? I thought he was going to kill himself!_"

"_Well, whoever he is, he clearly isn't sane..._"

Ezio chuckled at that last one. He had often asked himself if he was entirely clear of mind, but had learned to live with it. Being insane sometimes had some clear advantages. What kind of sane person threw himself regularly off a tower and expected to survive?

He heard two footsteps approach, one quiet as a cat's paw on satin and the other heavy, firm yet fleeting at the same time. They both stopped abruptly in front of him. Ezio didn't bother to open his eyes. He had no business with any of these 'nobles' except Louise.

"So you're the commoner that Vallière summoned?" a loud girl's voice asked, sounding doubtful. "You don't exactly look like much."

Ezio sighed. Apparently, these nobles had decided that they had business with him, though. "And what would it matter to you what I look like?" he asked blandly. "I'm in no mood for tiresome games. Go to breakfast already like the others; I'm waiting for my mistress."

"Oh, there's fire in you, talking to a noble like that," the voice said approvingly. "Either you're very proud or just very stupid."

Ezio laughed. "I've been called both." He opened his eyes and spotted the most unlikely pair of women he'd ever seen.

He recognized the young dragon rider from yesterday night immediately, though she didn't seem to pay him any attention, her nose buried in a book and her blue eyes darting back and forth across the lines behind her thin glasses. She completely ignored Ezio, her dragon nowhere to be seen. He assumed the beast was out flying by itself.

Tabitha's companion was her complete opposite. Where the dragon rider was short, she was tall. Where her skin was pale from hours spent poring over tomes in the library, hers was darkened from the sun. Where Tabitha's hair was a light blue cropped to shoulder-length, hers was a waist-length, fiery red. Where the rider was, er... lacking, she was endowed (to put it politely!). And while Tabitha appeared distant and silent, her companion was the complete opposite, measuring up Ezio with fiery eyes and an amused smile on her lips.

The tall girl laughed. "So, tell me, commoner, how much is the Vallière brat paying for this little charade, pretending to be her familiar?"

Ezio looked at her intently for a moment, then ignored her completely and addressed Tabitha, smiling. "Good morning, _signorina_. I trust you had a restful night?"

The smaller girl looked up briefly and nodded once, her eyes immediately returning to her book. Ezio couldn't help but continue to ask. "And where is Sylphid at this hour?"

"Hunting," was the girl's simple reply.

Ezio nodded sagely. "Ah, yes, that would make sense. A big animal needs a lot of food, no?"

Tabitha nodded wordlessly.

"Oi, oi," the other girl grumbled, "don't leave me out of the conversation here!"

Ezio looked at her oddly. "I don't think getting a one-word answer is much of a conversation."

"With Tabitha here?" The girl laughed aloud and winked at him. "You'd be surprised at how quiet she is! If she's talking to you already, you must have made a serious impression on her!"

"Met last night," Tabitha said simply, still not looking up from her book.

"Really?" her friend said eagerly. "Do tell, what happened?"

"Talk," Tabitha answered simply.

"_Himmel hilf_," the other girl muttered, exasperated. "You're never going to make new friends if you're so taciturn, Tabitha! You need to lighten up a bit, talk to people, make them smile! Don't you understand that? I've been telling you for years, and yet you never seem to listen!"

Tabitha ignored her and kept reading. Her friend huffed and turned back to Ezio, annoyed and muttering in some foreign language that Ezio didn't know. Ezio watched her carefully. She seemed to be far more... 'vivacious' and outgoing than her companion. There was an interesting story behind their friendship, Ezio was sure of it, and he couldn't help but smile.

"So, how did the Vallière girl convince you to go along with pretending to be her familiar? Money?" the redhead asked, her mouth set in a smirk. "It's not worth it, I tell you. That girl is an absolute failure as a mage; you'll only embarrass yourself by associating with her."

"Is that so?" Ezio asked drily.

"Familiar!" a shrill voice yelled from inside the dining hall. "Where on earth are you?"

"Out here, mistress!" Ezio called back cheerfully. He saw the red-haired girl's expression change from amusement to distaste as Louise walked into the courtyard, but she quickly schooled her features into a polite smile. Louise didn't bother hiding her dislike of the redhead as she approached the small group, scowling at her.

There was a silent stare-off. Louise turned away first and addressed Ezio. "Familiar," she said, gritting her teeth. "When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. Do you understand me?"

"_Perdonatemi_, I can't understand you," Ezio said with a straight face. "I only speak dog language, remember?"

"Familiar, this is not a joke!" Louise said loudly, stamping her feet like a petulant child. "I'm trying to think of an appropriate punishment for your behaviour."

The Assassin blinked. "Punishment, you say?"

"Yes." Louise nodded, oblivious to the way Ezio's shoulders tensed. "I'm thinking of giving you no food for a week – or perhaps you would prefer twenty lashes of the whip?" she asked snippily.

Ezio relaxed once more, smirking. "Whipped like a dog, only because I refused to help you dress?"

"I fail to see what is so terribly amusing," Louise hissed.

Ezio kicked off the wall, his smile becoming icy and his eyes cold. "No, _madamigella_, this is definitely _not_ amusing in any way. And if it is, I assure that I'm not laughing. Not in the slightest."

He approached Louise and crouched down so that their eyes were on the same level. Cold black eyes met reddish-brown ones, and the girl was pinned in place by sudden fear.

"You see, _madamigella_," Ezio said softly, "I am a family man. I told you this before I accepted this strange contract of yours. Do you know what that means, exactly?"

"Does it matter?" she said belligerently.

She quailed when Ezio silenced her with a look. "It means that I am married, child. For fifteen beautiful years, I have been married to a woman I love, a woman I was prepared to die for, a woman I would have gladly killed for, and let me assure you that I _have_ killed for her, more than once." Ezio smiled lightly, patting the sword sheathed at his side, before his expression turned serious again. "Fifteen beautiful years in which this woman gave me a strong son and a beautiful daughter. Those were some of the happiest years of my life."

Ezio didn't bother to hide his contempt now. "I have never thought of another woman since I met my wife. She _never_ needed help to get dressed. She was strong, she had her own mind on things, and she refused to be dependent on any man, even if she loved this man from the bottom of her heart. The only people I have ever helped were my own children, my own flesh and blood, and that was only when they were too small and helpless to do it themselves."

He leant forward until their noses nearly touched, eyes cold. "So tell me, _madamigella_, do you really think that I would even consider helping _you_, a pampered, annoying and abrasive young _brat_, to dress in the morning? Or are you really as helpless as a newborn _bambino_?"

Louise said nothing as she stared at him, her mouth open in stunned silence.

"Do you remember something else I told you?" he asked, voice quietly lethal. "I am not your servant. I am _not_ your pet. Or have you already forgotten?" Louise said nothing, held by the icy glare of those black eyes. Ezio stood up and sighed dejectedly. "I feared so."

He turned to the two other girls and bowed lightly. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, _signorina_ Tabitha," he said politely. The blue-haired girl looked up at him for a brief moment, but said nothing. "And you too, _madamigella_..."

The redhead snapped out of it. "Zerbst," she said quickly and held out a hand graciously, "Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst."

Ezio took the offered hand and briefly touched his lips to the back of her hand in a polite gesture. "A pleasure to meet you, _madamigella_. Ezio Auditore da Firenze, at your service. And now, I wish you all a good day."

And with that Ezio walked off at a measured pace, ignoring Louise altogether.

Louise found her voice again and yelled, not really knowing what else to do. "Familiar! Where do you think you're going?"

Ezio turned a frosty glance over his shoulder at her. "My name is not 'Familiar', child. It's Ezio. Remember it. And to answer your question, I am going to the kitchens. I prefer the company of honest, hard-working men and women to that of bratty children."

And Ezio continued on his way, ignoring the way Louise's hands clenched in fury.

Kirche laughed aloud when he'd disappeared from view. "Well, well, Vallière, how surprising," the Germanian crowed, delighted at her rival's misery. "Can you believe it? You even managed to make _your familiar_ run away in shame at your behavior. Well, if he even is your familiar – even your hired hands despise you, don't they? Does your incompetence really know any bounds, or do you just delight in torturing yourself?"

"Shut up!" Louise snarled, furiously storming off into the dining hall.

Kirche and Tabitha, however, were still standing there. The smaller girl was still reading, her tall companion staring at the spot where Ezio had disappeared.

"That was no commoner," she said aloud. "No fear, no deference. No commoner would dare speak to a noble that way."

"Dangerous," Tabitha commented softly.

"Dangerous? You think he's dangerous? Where did you get that idea?"

"Sword," Tabitha said, not looking up from her page. "Eyes."

"All right, all right, the weapons were a bit of a giveaway, but still– What do you mean, you saw it in his eyes?"

Tabitha started walking into the dining hall, her eyes still glued to her book.

"Tabitha!" Kirche pleaded as she walked after her, pouting. "Don't leave me hanging like that! I want to know!"

…

Finding the kitchens was relatively easy. The nobles probably liked their food still hot, so they couldn't be far from the dining hall. As he cautiously opened the door to the room filled with warmth and fires from the various stoves and pots, a person carrying something heavy nearly ran him over.

"I'm sorry! I didn't see you!"

Ezio chuckled as he recognized the voice. "No need to apologize, Miss Siesta."

The part-time nurse blinked up at him and smiled. "Monsieur Auditore! What brings you here?"

"Well, it seems that my little noble mistress is quite angry with me," _and I with her_, Ezio thought drily, "so I decided to come here for breakfast." He shrugged. "She mentioned that she didn't want to give me any food for a week. Some sort of punishment."

Siesta frowned. "That's horrible!"

Ezio's stomach grumbled, audible even over the din of the bustling kitchen. He smiled sheepishly. "My stomach seems to agree." He hadn't really eaten during the three days he'd been unconscious and had spent his first night back on his feet running and climbing around, delighting in his newly returned strength without stopping to eat. Probably a mistake. It was a wonder he hadn't collapsed yet.

Siesta giggled, motioning him to follow after her. "Come in! I'll get the cook to whip something up for you!"

"You don't mind doing that on my behalf?" Ezio asked gratefully. "_Molto grazie, signorina_."

"No need to feel like a stranger, Monsieur Auditore!" Siesta said cheerfully. "After me!"

The exuberant maid wasted no time, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the controlled chaos that was the Academy's kitchens. Everywhere Ezio could see, kitchen hands and cooks were cutting vegetables or watching over stewing pots simmering over flaming stoves, the occasional servant brining in baskets of vegetables, sausages, or various dead animals that were quickly skinned or plumed to disappear in various cooking pots or frying pans. The whole room was obscured by a low-hanging cloud of steam and smoke, and it was warm, smelling of cooking food and freshly baked bread. Ezio decided he liked it here, even though he took care not to bowl anyone over by accident. Everyone seemed busy.

Siesta led him efficiently through the whole of the massive kitchen to a large fireplace at the other end, blazing with flames that Ezio felt even halfway across the room. In front of it stood a man easily as tall as he was, but twice as large and packed with muscles and meat, a chef's hat on his head, sideburns and a large beard framing his face. He was standing close to the fireplace, shouting orders and yelling at the people working in the kitchen to increase their pace, his stern look observing everything happening in his domain.

Siesta stopped right in front of him, and Ezio nearly crashed into the two of them as she suddenly halted. "Hey, Marteau!" she said cheerfully. "This is Monsieur Auditore! He's been summoned as a familiar by one of the students, and I just invited him in when I saw him outside!" She shoved him in front of her, and Ezio gave the large man an awkward grin as he got manhandled by the far smaller woman.

Marteau just laughed, a booming sound that echoed through the entire kitchen. "A familiar, eh? Well, I've got no trouble with the creatures summoned by noble folks, even if your masters are all a bunch of stuck-up pricks! Com'ere, pal, let me take a good look at you! Servants to the bastard nobles like us have to stick together!"

He gave the hapless Italian a bone-crushing hug, Ezio thinking that one of his ribs might have cracked. The cook then held him at arm's length, an eyebrow raised as he studied Ezio's features. "You're not from around here, are you? Where do you hail from?"

"Far away, _Messer_ Marteau," Ezio wheezed, trying to get his breath back. The man was indeed ridiculously strong. Slaving for hours in a kitchen and carrying around heavy pots and crates probably built muscle like no one's business. "A country named Italia."

"Never heard of it!" the man said jovially. "Bit far away from home, aren't you?"

_You have no idea_, Ezio thought, a pang of homesickness hitting him. He ruthlessly crushed it before it could show on his face. "Very," he agreed, smiling. "I'm not quite used to everything around here."

"Well, I'm sure that our little Siesta here will help you out if you have any questions!" the large man said, winking cheerfully. "Told me quite a bit about you already! Seems to be quite taken with you as well! Aren't you, ma petite?"

"Marteau!" Siesta blushed a fiery red. "He came here to get breakfast, not to hear you gossip!"

Marteau laughed, a bellowing sound that sounded over the kitchen's noisy din. "Well, we servants always gossip! What else would you come to us for? Well, except for the damn food, that's for sure!" He clapped a large hand on Ezio's back, nearly sending the Assassin flying into the fireplace. "Sit yourself down at a table, Monsieur Auditore; I'm sure I can get some scraps of food for you that's too lower-class for the nobles to scarf down! The nobles here have got money flowing out of their arse; I don't think they'll mind paying fir an extra meal or two!"

Marteau was as true to his word as he was an excellent cook. Soon enough, Ezio was eating a large bowl of stew with vegetables and something meaty in it, along with a half a loaf of freshly baked bread. It was a simple, heartening meal, and exactly what Ezio needed after staying up all night. _Once again_, he thought wryly, _it pays to be nice to the help_. Though he did wonder why the large cook seemed to dislike the nobility so much.

Ezio watched from his little alcove to the side of the kitchen as the servants worked arduously, trading jokes and light-hearted barbs as they prepared breakfast, Marteau watching with an eagle's eye that everything went as smoothly as it possibly could. Considering the chaos and masses of food moved through this room, it didn't seem like an easy job, but Marteau was battling valiantly.

When he was done eating, Ezio stopped a harried-looking Siesta. "Is there any way I can help?" he asked politely.

"You want to help?" she asked, surprised.

"Of course, if you don't want me to, I can just–"

"No, no, I was just surprised!" she said quickly, smiling. "Familiars are like their noble masters; they usually don't help the servants, you know!" She gestured to a row of trays, freshly baked bread and pastries lying on them row by row. "Can you just help me move those to the dining hall?"

Ezio grinned, glad to be able to help in any small way he could. "It would be a pleasure, _signorina_."

...

Ezio regretted his decision as soon as he was forced to distribute the food in the dining hall.

Well, regret was perhaps too strong a word. He didn't mind helping Siesta – quite the contrary, in fact – but he wished he could have done so in a manner that didn't put him in the same room as these young nobles. The way they acted made him wish he could reach for a weapon and slit their pretty little throats.

They sat together in their little cliques, laughing and chatting, helping themselves to the food that the servants provided without even thanking them, without even looking at them. As if they were furniture, a part of the scenery. Occasionally, one of the noble children would call out an order for some foodstuff or another, or another jug of drink, and they would be promptly obeyed by one of the many maids and kitchen hands standing there in silent attendance.

The way the nobles talked made Ezio's skin crawl. That arrogant expectation that they would be obeyed, no matter how rude they sounded or how dismissive they were. The arrogance of nobility, thinking themselves higher and more important than any 'commoner'. It was just like home, like the Pazzi and Borgia of Roma and Firenze. Disgusting.

Ezio knew that nobles bled just the same way commoners did. Death visited all, no matter what womb you were born from.

"Excuse me!" an obnoxiously loud voice called out to him. "Can I have one of those excellent-looking pastries, my good man?"

Ezio repressed the urge to beat that pompous little twit to death with the metal tray he was carrying. It was heavy enough, and it had a rough edge. Slam it against someone's neck hard enough and it should break. Or perhaps he could choke him with it. As far as improvised weapons went, a metal tray wasn't a bad choice. Hell, Ezio had killed people with a _broom_ before.

To his regret, Ezio reined in that impulse and approached the group of students that were chattering amongst themselves, the blond idiot from last night at its centre, his admirers surrounding him as he posed after yet another dramatic declaration, flourishing his rose wand. Whatever it was he had said, the boys and girls surrounding him ate it all up. Ezio had stopped listening to him after a while, just so he could repress the urge to murder the idiot boy right then and there in the most brutal manner possible.

Now, however, he had no choice but to deal with him. _Oh joy._

"Yes, _signore_?" he said politely. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, give those pastries here!" the boy said impatiently. "Honestly, how stupid can you be? Do your job! We don't pay your salary for nothing, you know." The students around him tittered at his wit. Or perhaps the lack thereof. Ezio wasn't quite sure.

Biting his tongue to avoid saying the first thing that came to his mind, Ezio bowed graciously and held out the platter filled with assorted pastries, swallowing his pride. "Of course, _Messere_." He'd often dressed up as a servant for one assassination or another, and knew the part he had to play.

Though he rarely played the servant for very long. Usually, he killed the smug bastard that thought him to be subservient to him. Ezio realized with a sense of melancholy that he really couldn't do that here. Not yet, at least. He didn't have a place to hide the body, for starters, and the magic was an additionally complicating variable. How bothersome.

Soon, all the pastries were swiped from the pastries by the ravenous students, yet the blond was still there, staring at Ezio. "Have we met before?"

Ezio raised an eyebrow. _As if I could forget an idiotic performance like the one you put on last night. _His mouth twitched slightly. "I'm sure I would remember an illustrious personage such as yours, _signore_," he answered, voice dripping with dry amusement.

"Is _is_ you!" the young student exclaimed, pointing his rose wand at Ezio dramatically. "I recognize your strange accent! You're that new servant, aren't you?"

"Am I? I hadn't realized. Who are you, then?"

"Don't be so insolent! My name is Guiche de Gramont, third son of the illustrious Général de Gramont, leader of the Queen's Fifth Regiment during the Fourth Germanian Campaign!" the boy declared, straightening himself up and sticking out his bared chest (an open shirt with frills, how utterly _tasteless_) in a gesture of manly machismo. Considering there wasn't much chest to stick out, it made him look more like a twerp than anything else. His admirers didn't seem to care, swooning over him. "Your behaviour last night was most rude, commoner! I've had a mind or two to punish you for your undignified actions!"

Ezio wondered why the nobles here were so interested in punishing others. That couldn't possibly be a healthy state of mind.

He narrowed his eyes at the self-proclaimed military scion. "I think I remember you..." he began slowly.

Guiche preened, proud of having made a lasting impression–

"...you were with that lovely young lady, weren't you? Katie, wasn't it? How is she doing, by the way?"

–only to deflate a moment later as a deathly silence fell over the whole group. Guiche himself had become perfectly still and pale as a sheet.

"Guiche," a deceptively sweet voice asked, "what is this that I'm hearing about you and Katie?"

The pompous fop had gone quite white as a curly-haired girl with blue eyes pushed through the crowd that had seemed to gather, glaring at him. "Nothing! Nothing at all!" he said quickly, trying to give a charming smile. "After all, why would I need to spend time with her when I have such a–"

"–charming rose to spend my time with?" Ezio finished, chuckling. "Careful, you used that one last night on young Miss Katie already. Some variety in your compliments wouldn't hurt, you know."

"A 'charming rose', Guiche? Really?" the young girl asked quietly, still glaring at the blond boy. "And exactly _why_ is my fiancé spending his time with other women without telling the one he's promised to marry?"

"Lies! All lies!" the youth said frantically, waving his rose wand around. "You are the only one for me, Montmorency! There's no need to believe this servant, he's a _commoner_! He–"

"Oh, hello, Miss Katie!" Ezio called out loudly as he spotted the brunette at the edge of the crowd of onlookers. "Lovely day we're having, isn't it?"

Immediately, the whole crowd's attention was focused on the young girl as she stormed up to Guiche with tears in her eyes and started to loudly berate him for his 'unfaithfulness'. With all eyes fixed on the impending drama that was about to follow, Ezio made a quick getaway, smirking mischievously. Manipulating a crowd was just so _easy_, not to mention entertaining.

Ezio quickly walked over to Siesta, who was watching with quiet horror at the chaos that began to unfold, wringing her hands. "What happened?" she asked, worry evident on her face.

Ezio casually leant against the wall next to her, keeping a straight face. "Well, that blond _imbecile_ was seriously getting on my nerves, so I just talked to him. I really have no idea what happened."

"Absolutely no idea, now?" another voice asked icily. Ezio blinked, looking to his other side and seeing Louise glare up at him. He hadn't even noticed her approach. She was surprisingly quiet. Or perhaps he'd just been distracted.

He raised a cool eyebrow. "Is there a problem, mistress?" he asked, the title sounding far more disdainful than it should have in his mouth.

Louise frowned as she watched Katie, Guiche and Montmorency argue loudly and quite hysterically with each other, the crowd watching with poorly hidden enthusiasm. "Be careful what kind of people you mess with," she quietly warned. "No matter how much Guiche deserves a kicking, he is still a noble. He could kill you very easily if he wanted to."

Ezio snorted in disdain. "Greater men than him have tried."

The petite girl just scowled and walked away. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Ezio looked at her as she left, puzzled. _...Was that concern just now? Strange way to show it. _

He heard two loud slaps and returned his attention to the little mayhem he had started. Guiche stood there, open-mouthed and holding one of his two flaming cheeks, staring incredulously as the two girls stormed away, angrily pushing their way through the crowd. The blond one simply looked furious, but Katie was crying openly. Ezio felt a slight pang of guilt at her plight, remembering when Claudia had found out about Ducchio's two-timing. Admittedly, she hadn't stayed sad all that long, but she was still hurt by him. He smiled wistfully. The ensuing beat-down he gave that scumbag was one of Ezio's most treasured memories.

He resolved to do something nice for Miss Katie at some point in the future. She probably needed it.

"YOU!" Guiche roared as he advanced on Ezio, his rose held out threateningly. "This is all _your_ fault!"

Ezio took note of the surrounding students and the way they followed Guiche with avid interest. That was the trouble with crowds – such fickle beasts. Siesta squeaked in fear and quickly got out of the way.

The Assassin raised a brow in mild interest. "_My_ fault?"

"You made a young maiden cry!" the blond youth declared, pointing the rose at Ezio. "Her tears are on your hands! Her lamentations and weeping was caused by your barbarian manners!"

Ezio rolled his eyes. Overblown drama worse than any cheap street theatre. Well, he could act too. "Why, I've never made a young lady cry!" he protested aloud, clutching his heart in mock indignation. "All the ladies I kept company I left quite satisfied and happy, though they always seemed disappointed that I had to depart early." He grinned as some students couldn't help chuckling. Turning a crowd against its instigator was vital. Humour seemed to help. "Though I wonder why those two young ladies seemed so... _disappointed_, Gramont. Why the two-timing? Is it that difficult to control your own urges that you can't even stay with one woman? Cheating on your fiancé, that lovely young _signorina di_ Montmorency..." He shook his head in mock disapproval. "What an utter shame that she be wasted on a fool like you..."

"Enough of this!" Guiche roared, red-faced, the laughter of the crowd in his ears. He looked furious and unbalanced, as if he was going to snap at any moment.

Good. Ezio hoped that his taunts would provoke a reaction.

"You," Guiche growled, trying in vain to control himself, "are a vulgar and filthy commoner!"

Ezio yawned, looking quite disinterested. "Vulgarity and truth are seldom far apart, aren't they? As for the filth – I'm not the one staining his house's honour and that of two young women with my skirt-chasing. My mother raised me better than that, even if I _am_ nothing but a commoner."

The idiot didn't miss the barb thrown at his family. "How _dare_ you insult the House of Gramont!"

"It's not really an insult if it's true, no?" Ezio retorted with a smirk. "I'd say I'm not the one shaming my family by making an ass of myself in front of witnesses."

"That's it!" Guiche roared, pointing his rose straight at Ezio. "In the name of the House of Gramont, by the honours granted to me by my nobility and my magic, I challenge you to a duel!"

The whole crowd, which had amassed to include most of the students in the dining hall, had fallen silent. The other students seemed expectant and excited. Siesta looked terrified. Louise, though, looked resigned and tired, head held in her hands. Ezio wondered what her problem was.

"I accept," he said calmly. "Where and when?"

Guiche blinked in surprise as hushed murmurs broke out amongst the students. Ezio stepped forward from the wall, facing him. "Where and when, _ragazzo_?" he repeated, the taunting smirk reappearing.

The youth lifted up his nose haughtily. "The Vestri Court," he announced loudly with a grin. "We shall not sully these halls with the shame of your defeat. In ten minutes. Is that soon enough for you, or do you need more time to prepare?" he taunted.

The Assassin gave a mocking bow. "I am _always_ ready for a fight, Monsieur de Gramont. I will be there, unless, of course, I have to wait for you to powder your nose. Take your time if you need it, though."

Guiche snarled in anger and marched through the chuckling crowd towards the entrance. His friends followed him, looking rather unsure, the other students following after them. Ezio stretched, hearing his joints crack one by one. Ah. That felt good.

"That was _very_ foolish, Familiar."

Ezio turned around to see Louise scrutinizing him with a cool look. "My name is _not_ 'Familiar'. And why was I foolish?" he asked, mildly interested despite his annoyance.

Louise harrumphed. "Technically, you couldn't even be challenged to a duel – you're a commoner, after all. A duel is between nobles, beings capable of magic, gifted by God and His Founder. Between people with honour. You're neither. Guiche did this deliberately to humiliate you."

"And how, pray, does he intend to humiliate me?" Ezio asked, amused.

The petite girl just scowled. "He'll beat you into a bloody pulp in front of the whole school. Is that humiliating enough, _Monsieur_ Auditore?"

Ezio chuckled at the spiteful way she spoke his name, which only served to incense her further. "Well, if that womanizing fop can beat me, then I'd say that I definitely deserve to be humiliated."

"Foolish, stubborn and overconfident," Louise sighed, shaking her head in resignation. "Guiche will grind you to dust. No commoner can resist a mage."

"Then your commoners have never really tried."

Louise gave him a mirthless smile. "They have. They got massacred and subdued time and again. A pitchfork or sickle is no good when the elements themselves are out to destroy you." Louise walked towards the entrance door. "Guiche specializes in Earth magic. Construction, to be precise."

"...What does that mean? And why are you telling me this?"

Louise shrugged. "Who knows. I'll see you outside."

A moment later she was gone, leaving Ezio and Siesta behind. The Assassin turned to the quivering servant and smiled politely. "Do excuse me, Miss Siesta, but where exactly can I find the Vestri Court?"

...

Ezio regretted needling Guiche until the youth snapped and challenged him to a duel.

Not that he didn't want to fight – in fact, he would like nothing more than wipe that pompously confident smirk off the blond idiot's face, preferably using something with a sharp edge. What Ezio regretted was the choice of venue – one of the many large courtyards of the Academy. It was a large, open space, allowing both duellists enough room to move and fight. The surrounding crowd encircled Ezio and Guiche within a respectful distance. Siesta stood next to a tree, looking pale and ill. Louise was standing off to the side, watching with a scowl. Kirche and Tabitha were there as well, the redhead looking curious and Tabitha still reading, although she occasionally glanced up at the two combatants. The scene never seemed to hold her interest for long, though.

Ezio shifted apprehensively. This wasn't how he usually fought. When he had the chance, he decided the battlefield, the weapons, and the moment to strike, not his opponent. Ezio didn't fight 'fair' – the concept was as alien to him as the strange magic the people of these lands used. Fighting fair meant that there was a chance his enemy might win. There was a reason why he climbed high and struck from above if he could. It evened the odds, especially when he was outnumbered.

Ezio had never lost a fight. He might have lost a battle, lost friends, but all who had faced him had eventually died by his hand in one manner or another, sooner or later.

The Assassin's finger twitched. Still, this whole 'honourable duel' business was just bad news for him.

"I commend you for not running away." Guiche smirked, looking completely confident. "Are you scared, commoner?"

"Hardly," Ezio drawled, smirking. "Just waiting for your first move. Or are you too cowardly to attack, hiding behind that witchcraft of yours?"

Counters. Let him attack first, then react. It would give him an idea of what this mage was capable of.

"Bah!" Guiche spat on the ground, flourishing his wand. "Do you know what my runic name is, commoner?"

_Whatever it is, it's probably as ridiculously flamboyant as everything else about you_, Ezio thought disdainfully.

"My name is Guiche the Bronze! And that is exactly what you shall fight, commoner! A Valkyrie made of that beautiful metal, summoned from the Earth itself to defeat you!"

And with a few decisive slashes of the rose wand, something rose from the ground – a large, hulking figure made of shining metal. It was in the shape of a woman, beautifully decorated and wielding a long pike. It clunked as it straightened up, hefting its weapon. Impressed mutters resounded in the crowd – apparently this type of magic was rather difficult.

Ezio eyed it warily. _Construction, she said... The ability to build things with magic. _Now_ it makes sense._

"So? What do you say to my creation, commoner?" the youth declared confidently.

The Italian smirked wickedly. "Well, I was just wondering why you decided to hide behind something that looks like a woman, to be honest. Not man enough to fight your own battles, boy? Hiding behind a woman's skirt? Or did you create that lamentable imitation because it's the only woman that would accept you without feeling the urge to slap you?"

Angry people made mistakes, and Ezio had taunted his foes for years. The result was predictable, really: Guiche yelled in anger and flicked his rose wand, making the metal hulk charge towards Ezio at a full run. The Assassin waited patiently, raising his gauntleted fists from his sides in an easy stance.

When the construct reached him and made to run him through with its pike, Ezio lightly twisted aside. With a deft grip he had grabbed the long weapon, a strong kick sending the construct tumbling, the weapon ripped out of its hands. Before anyone could even blink, Ezio had used the pike's heavy axe head to crash through the metal shell of the puppet, cutting from its right shoulder to its left hip in one fluid motion. The two hollow halves fell to the ground with an empty clang.

Ezio dropped the pike, feeling the back of his left hand itching madly. _Strange..._

"I-impossible!"

Ezio turned around and saw Guiche, his mouth open and gawking. The crowd had fallen completely silent. Kirche and Siesta were goggling at the sudden turn of events. Louise looked as stunned as the other students around her. Tabitha was the only one who looked relatively unsurprised, but even her eyes were narrowed.

The Assassin shrugged dismissively. "I am bored, _ragazzo_. If those puppets are all you have in your bag of tricks, I suggest you concede defeat."

Guiche became red with fury. "A Gramont does not run!" he yelled, waving his wand again. This time, three metal figures rose out of the ground – one wielding an axe, another a mace and shield, and the last a spear.

"Of course, Gramont!" Ezio called out, grinning. "Hide behind your little marionettes! Hide behind them like the coward you are!"

"I. Am. Not. A. _Coward_!" Guiche roared, and the three figures charged all at once.

The first thing that Ezio noticed was that these constructs were all unusually well coordinated – _Though it would make sense_, he reasoned as he dodged a swipe of the axe before deflecting a jab of the spear with one of his bracers_, if they are all created by the same person and come from the same source. They won't fight like ordinary humans will._

The second thing That Ezio noted that _he_ himself was unusually fast. The familiar's ritual had given him back his youth, certainly, returning him to his former speed and strength of old, but even now he was evading the attacks of three different opponents all at once with a speed and grace that surpassed anything he'd ever done before. Even after decades of fighting, Ezio didn't think that he had ever been this nimble.

He'd solve that puzzle later, though. _Time to end this little charade. _

When the mace-wielding construct came just a bit too close, Ezio's leg lashed out in a practiced kick, hitting its groin. The metal dented under his armoured shin, the construct wobbling precariously, unbalanced. A moment later Ezio had grabbed the mace and viciously caved its chest in.

_One down, two to go. _

The axe(wo)man charged forward, but its overhead strike was predictable. Ezio nimbly stepped sideways, the captured mace crashing into its extended leg, sending it on its way downwards. With a fluid underhand strike, Ezio reduced the back of its head to an unrecognizable deformed mass, the beautifully decorated face now nothing more than crumpled sheet metal. The construct became still when Ezio slammed the heavy mace into its back with full force.

_One left..._

The last Valkyrie seemed to have learned from the fate of its fellows. Or perhaps it was Guiche that was being more careful now. No matter. In any case, the last construct stayed back, holding its spear in a guard position, waiting warily as it tried to corral him.

Ezio rolled his eyes and dropped the mace. He lifted up his left arm and aimed.

A moment later, a loud gunshot destroyed the stunned silence in the courtyard, the bullet tearing through the construct like a dagger through cheese. It dropped the spear, one of its arms having been cleanly blown off at the shoulder, and had no time to defend itself when Ezio punched it several times with an armoured fist, the hollow puppet crumbling under the force of his strikes.

Ezio flexed his fingers distastefully as the figure collapsed. He scowled at Guiche, who had begun to tremble like a leaf, his face as pale as that of a ghost's.

"I-i-impossible," he mumbled, staring wide-eyed at the remains of his puppets before pointing a quivering rose wand at his opponent. "That's impossible! You're nothing but a commoner!"

"Pathetic," Ezio growled. "Pathetic! You called yourself the son of a general, didn't you? A noble capable of magic! Look at me, _boy_!" he roared, and Guiche flinched as Ezio approached. "I have none of your hocus-pocus! I cannot conjure fire, I cannot create puppets, I can't even heal myself! I have only my weapons, my skills and my wit! And yet here I am, still standing! Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Guiche whimpered something inaudible, his knees knocking together, looking like a deer before it was run down by hunters on horseback.

Ezio shook his head, scoffing disdainfully. "I don't know whether to pity you or pity your father. He must be disappointed at having a sorry excuse for a fighter like you as his son. Or at least he would be disappointed, if he really is half the general you claim him to be." He narrowed his eyes at the youth, the hidden blade leaping from its sheath with a loud hiss. "Don't worry, though – I don't think you'll embarrass your dear father any longer after this."

And he started running towards Guiche at a full tilt, fully intending to cut his throat. The youth screamed and waved his wand, making half a dozen constructs appear from the ground. These had none of the elaborate decorations that had dominated his previous puppets – these were simply ugly, bland pieces of metal, constructed in a panicked hurry to stop a furious attacker.

It was futile.

Ezio tore through them, dancing like a dervish through their ranks, the hidden blade cutting metal, the hookblade sending puppets crashing into each other or tripping them over, leaving them helpless to the coup de grâce that followed a moment later, their arms cut off or their hollow shells ruthlessly crushed by a heavy boot or a dropping knee.

Guiche whimpered when Ezio emerged from the destroyed hunks of metal moments later without a single scratch. He frantically waved his rose wand and a sword rose from the ground, hilt first. Guiche grabbed it and charged, screaming incoherently, a wild and panicked look on his face. The Assassin scoffed.

Ezio grabbed Guiche's wrist and elbow as the boy's first wide swing came his way, pushing harshly in the opposite direction. The joint snapped with a sound that curdled blood, Ezio taking the sword for himself with a deft twist. The heavy boot lashed out, smashing into the side of the noble's knee. Guiche collapsed with a shrill scream of pain as the joint was reduced to splinters, his legs now unable to hold him, the broken limb bent at an angle that couldn't possibly be healthy.

Ezio set the captured weapon against Guiche's throat, drawing blood. One little push and the jugular would be severed, ridding the world of another useless parasite.

A voice stopped him, though, cutting cleanly through the red haze of cold rage and fury clouding his mind.

"Ezio, that's _enough_!"

Ezio's sword stilled, the itch on the back of his left hand heightening, as if the runes had been cut into his skin _again_. He gritted his teeth, tempted to just kill the little shit anyway, but looked around him first.

The students around him had backed away as far as they possibly could, their faces pale. Some of the girls were clutching each other in abject terror, crying, the boys looking faint, as if they were going to be ill. All their faces were displaying utter fear and shock. Siesta looked shocked, as if she couldn't believe what she had just witnessed with her own eyes. Kirche's mouth was open in a wide 'O' of surprise, her arms hanging slack at her sides. Tabitha's eyes were upon him, icy blue and calculating, her expression far colder than he had ever seen it before. Montmorency and Katie had apparently returned to watch, both of them looks of utter horror on their faces as they saw Guiche lying broken and bleeding on the ground.

It was Louise that surprised him, though. The girl hadn't retreated like her classmates; no, she had actually stepped forward, standing only a few metres away from the two of them, the diminutive girl glaring at him, hands clenched. It was her who had yelled at him to stand down.

Ezio, however, didn't drop his sword. "Why stop me?" he asked, curious.

She held his gaze, not backing down. "I will not let you kill him," she grit out angrily.

"Again, why stop me?" Ezio adjusted his grip slightly, nicking Guiche's skin, blood flowing freely. The blond youth whimpered, tears running down his face, his robes an utter mess. Ezio didn't care. "You don't even like him that much," he continued bluntly, ignoring his defeated opponent who began to weep quietly in fear. "And he was the one who challenged me to a duel, _vero_? I could kill him right now, right here, and no one would be able to complain."

"He's one of my classmates," Louise spat out. "It doesn't matter if I like him or not. And it seems I might be the only one who can stop you from killing him. It's not _right_."

Ezio grinned nastily. "Is that so, child? If he had ground _me_ to dust instead," he relished the girl's flinch as her own words were thrown back into her face, "would you have said anything? Or would you have relished an uppity commoner getting his due? Would _that_ have been right?"

"...No," Louise snarled, "it wouldn't have been right! But that doesn't matter now!"

"It matters," Ezio said coldly, the point of his sword never wavering. "Injustice is one of my particular pet peeves. People tend to die when they annoy me, child."

"Please..." Guiche whimpered, trying to move away from the sword, but unable to do so as he screamed in pain, his destroyed arm and leg hampering him. "Please..."

"What?" Ezio asked, throwing the youth an irritated glance. "What is it you want?"

"I want to live," Guiche whispered, blood from his throat running over his bare chest. He was sobbing now, completely undignified when faced with death. "_I want to live!_"

"You challenge me to a duel, knowing full well that we would fight to the death, and now that you are defeated, you beg for your life?" Ezio asked, disgusted. "Where is that bravado of yours now? Gone, all because a 'commoner' managed to defeat you?"

Guiche stared up at him along the length of the blade he'd conjured, tears running down his cheeks and his eyes silently pleading.

"Is this the first time you've faced death, _ragazzo_?" the Assassin asked scornfully.

"Yes," Guiche whispered, his voice fading.

"Pathetic," Ezio said quietly, but he was still heard throughout the whole courtyard. "And you call yourself a noble? If you were unwilling to gamble your life for the cause you defend, then you are nothing more than a waste of space." He spat out at Guiche disdainfully. "Shameful. If you are an example of the rest of this country's nobility, then I wish to be no part of it."

The students were silent, watching with growing horror, the only sounds being some of the students silently weeping and the sound of the wind. Guiche was still pleading silently for mercy, crying and feeling far colder than he ever had before in his life, even though the sun was high in the sky.

"Ezio..." Louise said quietly, warningly.

The Assassin threw her a baleful glare. The conjured sword was raised high in a sudden movement, slashing across Guiche's face, blood splattering the grass. Some of the students screamed. Others fainted. Guiche himself collapsed bonelessly onto his back in a dead faint.

Ezio looked at him with contempt, grabbing the two ends of the conjured sword and breaking it over his knee, letting the pieces drop at his feet. He turned around and marched towards Louise, who nearly shrank back under his furious glare. The girl, however, stood her ground, and Ezio felt a grudging sort of respect rise in him.

"I will listen to you this once, _mistress_," Ezio hissed venomously, ignoring the students who crowded towards Guiche in a panic, trying to help him. "But the next time any one of these fools challenges me to a duel, their head will be mine. _Capito_?"

"I wouldn't worry too much," Louise said laconically, nodding towards the teachers that were driving their way through the crowd to get to the wounded student. "Anyone who challenges you after _this_ little display is a true idiot. Killing them would be a favour to the universe."

Sister Catherine had managed to get to Guiche first, hurriedly levitating the broken boy onto a stretcher, assisted by a bespectacled woman with green hair that threw a wary look Ezio's way. Professor Colbert was there, accompanied by an old man with a long flowing beard that reached his belt buckle, clad in elaborate robes. They conversed hurriedly, whispering to themselves with agitation before Colbert nodded and hurried off.

As Ezio watched, the old man stood up to his full height and glared. "Don't you have any classes to get to, ladies and gentlemen?" he roared, his voice booming across the yard with ease. "Get moving, or a detention will be the least thing you have to worry about!"

Ezio nearly burst out laughing as the students scattered. The incongruity of threatening someone with _detention_, of all things, after nearly witnessing someone succumbing to a brutal death was just too strange. Louise noticed the suppressed hilarity, though, and couldn't help but smirk herself.

Guiche was briskly carried away under the eyes of the muttering students, the two remaining teachers conferring quickly and quietly.

"Say, Ezio," Louise addressed him quietly, her words nearly inaudible over the hubbub of the crowd.

"What is it, Louise?"

She hesitated for a moment before ploughing on. "...Can you teach me how to use a sword like you?"

Ezio blinked, before a slow smile flickered over his face.

_Well, well, there is some steel in this little mistress of mine after all._

_...  
_

"By the Founder, Colbert, I thought that you were just pulling my leg," Old Osmond muttered quietly to the man accompanying him through the corridors. The old magician looked pale and worried.

"Oh, so you suddenly believe me now?" the teacher said, sounding mildly offended. "When I came to tell you of my suspicions yesterday evening, you dismissed them, and I quote, as 'baloney created by a mind addled by reading too much history and far too many myths and bedtime stories.' What changed your tune so quickly, headmaster?"

"My apologies, Colbert, but you do have a reputation for various... eccentricities," Old Osmond said diplomatically.

Colbert raised an eyebrow. "I like researching history. It is full of interesting lessons for each and every single one of us, full of mistakes that we can learn and grow from."

"Let's not start _that_ particular argument again, as fascinating as it may be, d'accord?" Osmond said quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "We have far more important things to worry about. Are you absolutely sure that the familiar's runes match those written down in Brimir's scrolls?"

Colbert sighed, aggravated. "Indubitably. The angles, the geometry, the various arrangements and magical power conduits all match those of the runes belonging to the Gandalfr. Seeing that man's skill with his weapons was just the final proof."

"Dear Founder and all his Saints..." the headmaster whispered, looking pale and worried. "The Left Hand of God has returned..."

"Well, that can't really be a good sign," Colbert said bluntly. "Brimir's familiars were foretold to return in times of war and strife. Omens of doom, as the old women say."

"Surely those are legends."

"Headmaster, have you _seen_ the way that man moved?" Colbert asked incredulously. "He annihilated the Gramont boy. That arrogant brat may be a skirt-chasing idiot, but he's no slouch when it comes to magic and puppetry. A natural talent, one might say. Yet he was demolished in mere moments by a commoner with absolutely no magical aptitude using nothing more than common weapons and skill. And I can't help but think that Monsieur Auditore was just toying with him."

Osmond raised an interested eyebrow, suddenly stopping in the hallway next to an open window, feeling a fresh breeze. "Auditore?"

"That's the familiar's name," Colbert confirmed. "Ezio Auditore da Firenze."

"Firenze, you say? Sounds Romalian."

The bespectacled teacher laughed quietly. "It does, doesn't it? I looked up the name. It's the name of a small fishing village that was razed to the ground over forty years ago during a peasant uprising. The local nobility weren't exactly gentle when they decided to suppress the rebels... But he can't possibly be from there. He knew nothing of magic and our society."

"Really?" Osmond asked, sounding inordinately interested.

"In fact," Colbert continued, pushing his glasses excitedly up his nose, "he scoffed at the very idea of it, only believing me when I demonstrated our power right in front of him. He claimed that his homeland didn't know magic at all!"

"And yet he can fight magicians with nothing but swords and skill? Truly impressive. ...Keep an eye on him," Osmond ordered quietly after a moment of thought, keeping his voice low. "We have no idea what his intentions are, so be wary. You still have that artefact you retrieved from his person when he first appeared, don't you?"

"The golden sphere?"

"Yes, that one. It's definitely a powerful magical object; any fool with the Sense could spot it from miles away. We'll lock it into the Academy's vault for safekeeping."

Colbert blinked rapidly. "Is that wise? Technically, we _are_ stealing that thing from him, headmaster."

"Would you rather have me return an immeasurably powerful magical object to a commoner who has no idea how to use it?" Osmond asked archly. Colbert looked like he wanted to say something, but shut his mouth quickly. "Thank you for agreeing with me. Now, I expect that artefact in my office this evening. Until then, Professor Colbert, I bid you a good day." With a sweep of his robes, the headmaster disappeared down the Academy's corridor, his expression back to that of the grandfatherly old man that many of the students looked up to and trusted.

The former Flame Snake simply stood there, lost in thought. _And yet you're wrong, headmaster. There is magic in that man, just not any we have ever come across. I can feel it. And he _is_ the Gandalfr..._ Colbert's mouth set into a mirthless smile. _There's no telling what he is capable of. Or what Mademoiselle de la Vallière is capable of, for that matter. After all, she was the one who summoned him in the first place. _

The teacher turned on his heel, walking towards the laboratory that he called home. _Well, playing it safe is probably the best idea for now_, he mused silently. _Let's hope this doesn't blow up in our faces. _

Outside the open window where a strong wind blew, he thought he heard an eagle screech.

...

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (May 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	5. Chapter V – To Teach How To Fly

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the two original works, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT. PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTES.

...Did I get your attention? Excellent. Sorry about the all capitals, but I really need all you ladies and gentlemen to read this, simply so I don't feel guilty about it later.

Anyway, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Chapter Five of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_. Thank you – again and again! – to everyone who read and reviewed. This chapter is a few pages longer than usual, actually (I was motivated), even though it's mostly character development, foreshadowing, and character interaction. Oh, and there's training scenes. Lots of them. I hope you enjoy it!

As for the all-important announcement I wanted to make, here it is: I have exams. Really, very _important_ exams that I desperately need to study for. And as much as I enjoy writing, I've noticed that it sucks up a lot of my time that I need to study and learn stuff by memory. Which is why, unfortunately, this chapter is going to be the last update to this story until my exams are over. I haven't completely stopped writing – heavens no! I'd go barmy otherwise – but you won't be get a new chapter every week as I planned on doing. I'm really, really sorry about this, but real life takes precedence over anything I might do for fun on this website, and I personally think it sucks that I have to disappoint you in this way. As soon as my exams are over (in a month or so), I'll have a lot of free time to write and update, so expect my schedule to pick up again at that point. I hope that you can understand my reasons, and I promise to write and publish as soon as I'm done with these flipping exams. Again, I'm truly sorry.

Now, on to some comments from reviews that I felt needed to be addressed.

A lot of people have commented that Louise seems OOC. They're absolutely right, and it's done on purpose. I've written her in a different manner than most ZnT fanfiction stories I've seen, and let me explain why.

As far as I understand, Louise is a loner, a pariah among the other noble students. She's been shunned and belittled for years, not only by her peers, but also by her disappointed mother, the teachers who were exasperated with her lack of control (Colbert being an exception), and not to mention her own disappointment. Of course, people react in different ways to being outcasts, but generally, they mature quickly and get a rather cynical view of the world. To be honest, I'm speaking from personal experience, as loath as I am to say it. Louise learned relatively quickly that raging against the world didn't exactly help her reputation – in fact, it only made people make fun of and avoid her more. So she simply cut herself off from everyone, simply so that it wouldn't hurt anymore, become aloof and cold with the occasional bout of rage and anger. She still has that explosive temper, but she tries harder to control it, because if she gave in to it at will, it would only make things worse for he, not to mention that it would dent her family's reputation.

So, actually, if people think she's acting OOC, you're completely right – I'm trying for my own interpretation of Louise here. I'm writing her the way I believe she would realistically have turned out had she been a social outcast, demeaned and belittled all her life. She's still a tsundere with a nasty temper, but she's learned to hide it so as not to attract any more unwelcome attention. A realistic interpretation of her canon backstory, if you will. Does that make sense?

And to be very, _very_ honest, I was sick and tired of seeing the same model of Louise in every single ZnT story I've read. As much as rigorously adhering to canon can be useful (sometimes), I couldn't help but think that her reaction and development into a person with a trigger-happy temper was completely irrational, especially when she's she's supposed to be less talented than any other student at the academy. So I tried to interpret her differently. In my opinion, it makes things more interesting to deviate from the common model – and certainly far more fun to write. Tell me what you think, though – all opinions appreciated!

In this story are the first hints to the difference between canon ZnT and the new backstory I'm trying to write. It's only hints and foreshadowing so far, but tell me how it works.

And the reviewer who can tell me what television and book series I paid homage to in the first training scene between Ezio and Louise gets a virtual cookie. Enjoy!

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

...

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter V – To Teach How To Fly  
**

...

A week later, Ezio waited patiently in the courtyard until he heard small steps on the grass behind him. "You," he said without preamble, turning around swiftly, "are _late_."

Louise grumbled in annoyance as she took off the cloak of her uniform. "I had classes! I couldn't get away earlier than this."

Ezio snorted disdainfully. "Books and scrolls and magic spells are all well and good–" and with a deft move, he threw one of the wooden practice swords he'd held behind his back at Louise, the weapon clattering to the ground as she fumbled her grip, "–but remember that it was _you_ that asked for me to teach you swordsmanship. You told me that a week ago. I have not seen much enthusiasm since then."

"Sorry," Louise muttered, looking away in defiant guilt, "there was just no time–"

"Bah, excuses! I do not want excuses; I want action, I want resolve!" Ezio called out, tapping the point of his own practice sword on the ground irritably. "Tomorrow, you will be here when the clock strikes five and no later, or I will refuse to teach you any further than this first lesson. Do we understand each other, Louise?"

Louise nearly exploded right then and there. "How _dare_ you, you insolent–"

"Louise!" Ezio snapped sharply, his voice lashing out like a whip. "This is _not_ a children's game we are playing! I am not teaching you numbers or embroidery; I am teaching you how to _kill_. Do we _understand_ each other, or do you want to leave?"

Cowed by his harsh tone, she nodded meekly. "I understand, Ezio."

Ezio nodded, his expression serious. "_Bene_. Now pick up your sword."

It had taken a while for Louise to get used to the idea of having an Assassin as a familiar. In fact, when the girl had asked him point blank what he exactly was, the former Mentor had been rather evasive, refusing to talk of his past and only giving vague answers that really told her nothing of his life.

Ezio had quickly found out, however, that Louise was quite possibly one of the most stubborn women he had ever met. It didn't take her long to wheedle out of him that he was really a killer for hire. He was able to leave out the more secret details of his life, figuring that the young girl wouldn't understand the differing ideals of the Templars and Assassins. Still, the idea of such a powerful fighter, capable of defeating magic users with nothing but the clever use of weapons and skill, had rocked the arrogant noble brat to the core. Nobles were not the unassailable wielders of arcane power that she had thought them to be. When Ezio had matter-of-factly listed a dozen different ways he could kill a noble with nothing more than a candle knife, each of them quite viable and possible, Louise had been forced to revise her opinion of her unassuming-looking 'commoner' familiar.

Now that she knew who Ezio was (and after he had reassured her that he had no intentions of hurting the students), she was slightly more relaxed around him, telling him more about herself, her family and the country's history and magic. She even (hesitatingly) called him by his first name now, a far cry from the impersonal 'Familiar' bestowed on him before. Even though she occasionally wanted to blow him into a smear on the wall for his incessant playful teasing and sarcastic comments, Louise found she could smile around Ezio, his sharp wit and advice making good company.

The other students couldn't say the same thing, however. Wherever Ezio turned up, the students would avoid him like the plague, stumbling over their own feet to get out of his way in the corridors, their faces terrified as he passed. As soon as they thought he was gone, they would whisper behind his back about the latest outlandish rumours that had cropped up about him, unaware of the Assassin's sharp hearing. Ezio had heard all the speculations about his origins, from being a very skilled mercenary (not too far from the truth, actually) to being a demon send to these lands to chastise the sinners that had offended God and the so-called 'Founder's Will', handing out divine punishment to all those who deserved it (he'd chuckled at that one, remembering how Rodrigo Borgia had excommunicated him, declaring him a traitor to God). Others called him an elf, some sort of creature of a folktale from times long past that hadn't been seen for centuries. Ezio didn't really know whether to be amused or insulted by the fact that he was being compared to some sort of fairie.

In the end, he decided to just not worry about it. He had better things to do.

Like teaching a frail noble girl how to use a blade.

Louise picked up the wooden practice sword, holding the heavy stick awkwardly in two hands. Ezio clicked his tongue, annoyed. "That's not a greatsword or an axe, _ragazza_. It doesn't need two hands to be swung. See?" He held out his own weapon with one hand, fingers outstretched before they clamped shut around the hilt, thumb lying lightly against the cross guard. "_That_ is the grip. Not like that, you're holding it too tight!" he chided Louise, correcting her instantly, loosening her clenched fingers. "You'll only lock your wrist that way, and you won't be flexible. The grip must be... delicate. Yes. Finesse is the key. Otherwise, you might as well be holding a metal club."

"Won't I drop it then?" Louise argued, frowning. "It's too heavy!"

"Drop your sword?" Ezio laughed and flourished his weapon in a sharp movement, his grip never wavering. "Do you know what happens when you just _drop_ your weapon in a fight, _piccina_?" Swift as a snake, the tip of the wooden sword jabbed into Louise's stomach, driving out the air in her lungs. "Lose your weapon, drop it while you fight, and you _die_. It's quite simple."

Ezio chuckled at Louise's expression of curious dismay. "I guarantee you, _piccina_, when you face someone on the battlefield and that length of steel is the only thing separating you from the dead scattered around you, you will _never_ let go of your sword again. And do not worry about the weight. It's as heavy as it needs to be for you to learn, and to get strong. Now, turn your body sideways."

This time, Louise obeyed without question, although she looked far more disheartened. Ezio examined her build critically. "You're quite skinny. _Eccellente_!"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Being skinny is good!" Ezio repeated, frowning at her unhappy expression. "What? What did I say?"

"That's the first time I heard that being skinny is something to be happy about," Louise said bitterly. "The boys don't seem to appreciate it."

Ezio dimly remembered the girl telling him about her rivalry with the foreign noble... What was her name again? Kanter? Klara? Kirche! Yes, that was it. Those two seemed to fight like cats in a bag whenever they met.

...In any case, it seemed to be a thing of womanly jealousy. He was clever enough not to ask any more questions Louise looked about ready to kill, and that was only from _remembering_ the slights she had suffered, imagined or not. He hated to think how she felt when the dark-skinned girl was actually in her presence.

He cleared his throat. "In any case," he continued quickly, snapping Louise out of her dark thoughts, "being skinny isn't too bad, see? The target is small, and that makes it difficult for your opponent to hit you. Now, the stance. Try and imitate what I do."

The girl grinned as she adopted the stance he'd taken, or at least lamentably attempted to. "I'll be sure to tell that to von Zerbst the next time she brags about those udders of hers..."

"Focus, Louise," Ezio chided as he went over to her, correcting her footwork and the position of her arms with light taps of his wooden sword as he lectured, feeling completely in his element. It had been far too long since he had taught swordplay. Years, in fact. "Concentration is the key to these exercises, more so than strength is. Now, that is the basic stance it's made to allow you to move between defence and offense at a moment's notice. A twist of the wrist," he demonstrated, "and you can block blows from one side, a little step to this side," he made Louise follow through the movement, "and you dodge blows from the other. Quite simple, but the devil is in applying it quickly during a fight."

Louise listened, not even thinking of interrupting, drinking in everything as Ezio lectured her about the different steps, blocks, parries and dodges, the Assassin running her through each movement several times, practicing by striking slowly at her, chaining the blows, picking up the pace after a while.

Ezio was a strict taskmaster, demanding nothing less than excellence when it came to the execution of the movements. He mercilessly pointed out any mistake she made, correcting her movements. When he found an opening in her still lamentable defence, he took it without hesitation, leaving her sprawled on the ground and nursing another bruise underneath her uniform. Still, she got up after every time she was disarmed or sent to the ground, gritting her teeth. At least she _could_ get better in swordsmanship, unlike the secrets of magic that continued to elude her.

With that in mind, she persevered.

It didn't take long for Louise to feel herself getting tired, her breaths getting quicker and her limbs getting heavier with exertion. After only twenty minutes, she was already gulping for air, her usually immaculate blond hair stringy with sweat.

"All right," Ezio said loudly, "let's have a break. Not bad, _piccina_. For a first time, at least."

Louise stepped back immediately, grabbing her stomach as she took in much needed gulps of breath.

And was rather surprised when Ezio swiftly disarmed her, setting the point of his sword at her throat. He chuckled at her comically outraged expression. He loved playing this trick on his novices back in the day.

"You're dead," he said calmly.

"You cheated!" she yelled indignantly. "You said we should stop!"

"And yet you are still dead." Ezio didn't move the point of his sword, staring at her. "Tell me, Louise, if the two of us were fighting to the death, do you think that you would cheat to win?"

"Never!" she claimed, standing up straight and glowering at him. "That would be dishonour unworthy of the Vallière family!"

Ezio sighed. "Wrong answer." He stepped back, adjusting his grip. "Try and hit me."

Louise snatched up her sword and ran straight at him with a yell, aiming to run him through. Ezio stepped aside, avoiding the strike with elegant nonchalance, lightly tapping Louise on her back with the flat side of his stick as she passed him like a charging bull. "Dead."

Louise turned on her heel, snarling as she swung at him from up high. Ezio grabbed her wrist with his off hand and set the point of the practice sword against her stomach with his other. The Assassin grinned insolently as he released her. "Dead."

Louise tried to calm herself, settling into the stance Ezio had taught her, swiping the heavy wooden blade from the side quickly. Before she even completed her swing, Ezio had tapped her thigh on the other side with a quick lunge, a blow that would have easily sliced through a major artery, leaving her spraying blood all over the grass. "Dead."

Louise leaped straight at Ezio, sword swung high at a wide angle, only to see him lunge with a small step and find his sword at her throat before she could bring her own to bear. "Dead."

Jumping back, she tried to swing from the other side. With a slight twist of the wrist, Ezio's sword changed direction, avoiding her blade altogether and finding its way to her opposite side. If the weapon had been sharp, it would have cleanly severed her torso, separating legs and body. "_Very_ dead."

And so it went for another ten minutes. Louise, stubborn as she was, charged him again and again, only to find herself disarmed or outmanoeuvred every time, Ezio's sword tripping her legs or his simple evasions sending her sprawling with her own momentum, his blade piercing her defences with casual ease.

Ezio made no secret of his deviousness: he mercilessly tripped her, grabbed her wrist to throw her off-balance, threw sand in her eyes, kicked out when she least expected it, or used his greater reach and strength to bring her to fall before she could even get close to him. Every time Ezio poked his sword's wooden point at a spot that Louise knew from Sister Catherine's anatomy classes would cause death, sometimes slow and agonizing from blood loss, sometimes quick and painless when it punctured a major organ.

Every time, though, she would get back up, grab her sword and try again to hit him, to no avail. Ezio was nevertheless impressed. She may have been tired and breathing heavily, her bruises multiplying with every bout she lost, but her earlier sluggishness was gone, replaced by a burning fire in her eyes. Probably anger.

Ezio couldn't help but feel some slight respect well up in him. That girl just _refused_ to give up.

Unfortunately, Ezio knew that boneheaded determination to win, no matter what the cost, was just as useless (and hazardous) as lack of skill. And Louise's newfound determination to win, no matter how great, could do nothing against nearly seventy years of combat experience and skill sharpened to the near superhuman. One little mistake was enough to separate the living from the dying.

Again, Louise found herself lying on the ground after Ezio had simply grabbed her wrist as she slashed at him, tripping her with a simple push in the other direction. He jabbed his sword at her throat. "Dead again."

She pushed herself up from the ground, growling in frustration, anger, and shame. She had failed. _Again_. "Why?" she snarled. "Why can't I hit you?"

"Because I do everything to win," Ezio said simply as he grabbed her forearm, hauling the surprised girl to her feet. "Because I have been fighting battles and wars for over fifty years and have survived them all. You haven't even held a sword before today. Because I trick, I deceive, I feint, and I _win_. Because I do not fight _fair_." He spat out that last word like an insult, before controlling himself again, his expression deadly serious.

"There is no such thing as a fair fight, Louise," he said quietly as he gently examined the purple bruise on her wrist, caused by the strength of his vice-like grip as he repeatedly disarmed her. "Someone is always going to be stronger, faster, more experienced or better equipped than you. And even if you are all of those things, sometimes only luck saves you when you are outnumbered or when you overreach yourself." He dropped her arm and looked at her intently. "The only thing I can do is teach you to throw away all those ideas and preconceptions you have about honour in battle. There is no such thing. Fight dirty. Fight violently. Fight ruthlessly. If it saves you from death, then it's fair game."

This was probably the most important lessons a novice had to learn. Which was why he insisted on personally teaching it to every single of his students and was so very insistent that they understood _exactly_ what he meant. Even if it meant giving them a merciless beating in the process. At least it would be one memory they wouldn't forget that easily.

Louise looked appalled. "For some of us, our honour is all that's left," she hissed angrily.

He blinked, curious. "Is honour all _you_ have left, _piccina_?"

"Yes." She looked away, blinking away angry tears. "I can't use magic worth a damn; I'm the youngest daughter of a family that is on the verge of disowning me, I have no position at court, no friends, no connections, no power, _nothing_. That's exactly what a noble without magic is." She glared up at him. "My honour is all I have left."

Ezio smiled lightly, amused. "Not quite. You have me now."

"Yoohoo, Monsieur Auditore!" a voice called out cheerfully. Ezio turned away from an annoyed Louise to see a cheerfully waving Siesta walk towards them. "I have something for you!"

"_Madamigella_," Ezio said pleasantly, saluting elegantly with his wooden sword. "What can I help you with today? Is Marteau running the kitchen hands ragged already?"

"That old grouch hasn't changed from yesterday, you know!" The girl bounded over, smiling all the while as she chattered. "Actually, he told me to give this to you, Monsieur Auditore! He heard that you are always climbing buildings and practicing your swordplay in the afternoons, so he thought you would be hungry and thirsty! Just bring the basket back later, okay?"

She proudly held out a small basket with bread, fruit, and a bottle of wine. Ezio took them and bowed graciously. "Thank you, _signorina_. You probably saved us both from a horrible fate of starvation."

"Don't mention it!" the girl chirped happily before giving a curtsey to Louise.

"Popular with the help, aren't you?" Louise grumbled as the two of them sat down on a nearby bench, watching Siesta bound away, presumably to help Sister Catherine in the infirmary as she usually did in the afternoons.

"A bit," Ezio admitted as he broke the bread in half, handing one to Louise as he chewed on his own. "I'm a commoner like them, after all."

"Are you sure it has nothing to do with publically humiliating a noble known for his callous treatment of commoners and outrageous advances on the female servants?" she asked sarcastically as she uncorked the bottle.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's my pleasant personality," Ezio said with a straight face, causing Louise to chortle with amusement despite herself.

They sat in silence as they ate and drank. The bread was quite good, Ezio reflected, and so was the wine. He smiled to himself. When he told Louise that he was 'a bit' popular with servants working at the Academy, he had been guilty of the understatement of the century. When he returned to the kitchen for the first time after his little duel, the inhumanly strong head cook had wrapped him in a joyous bear hug, lifting the confused Italian cleanly off the ground and probably cracking another rib or two. The other servants had cheered and slapped Ezio on the back, offering him congratulations, compliments and praise. Ezio didn't quite know what to make of it until Marteau broke out several bottles of wine and shared them around. "A toast! A toast to Our Sword!"

Our Sword. For some reason, the title had stuck and spread like wildfire. It was catchy, after all. Simple, easy to remember. When Ezio visited the small town surrounding the Academy, people he'd never met occasionally called out to him using the strange moniker, smiling and waving. And every common servant of the Academy greeted him enthusiastically, offering help and guidance when he needed it.

Ezio had decided that he liked it. It reminded him of more pleasant times in Monteriggioni, when passersby would greet him happily with smiles on their faces.

"There's a special event happening at the end of next week," Louise began hesitantly when they had finished eating and simply rested. Well, she needed it more than him; he was barely winded after that little sparring session. No need to tell her that, though.

"Really? Do tell."

"It's a competition between familiars," Louise continued quickly, "and it's tradition for the winner to get an audience with the Queen of Tristain herself. Well, the Princess this year, actually the Queen's been ill recently."

Ezio considered that for a moment. "...So? Is that important?"

"You're being deliberately obtuse, aren't you?" Louise sighed, irritated. "Fine. The students usually jump at the chance to meet the royal family and the high nobility, simply because it gives them connections and offers an easy way into the royal court. The prize of a golden crown is nothing more than a trinket."

"And what, _prego_, does that have to do with me?"

Louise threw her hands up, frustrated. "Well, _you're_ a familiar too, aren't you? What are your plans for the competition?"

"I can do a knife throwing act," Ezio suggested with a sarcastic grin.

Louise looked at him, excited. "That's perfect! Brilliant idea, Ezio!"

His face fell immediately as the girl started muttering to herself. "...That was a joke, Louise. I didn't mean it seriously. ...Hello? Are you listening to me at all?"

...

"Stupid girls and their stupid ideas and their annoying magic and irritating professors and flying dragons and..."

If any stranger had passed Ezio Auditore just now, they would have assumed that he had finally snapped. In fact, the students were giving him a wide berth as he marched through the corridors, boots clacking loudly on the stone floor as he angrily muttered to himself.

"Why do I have to actually _do_ a throwing knife act? _È stupido!_ I know how to _stab_ people with knives well enough, yes, but deliberately miss? Hah!"

"Monsieur, I'm gonna haf ter ask ya ter be quiet."

Ezio's head snapped up to meet that of a spindly old man glaring at him, a stack of books in his arms. He looked around him, spotting the shelves of leather-bound books spanning the large hall he'd wandered into without really noticing, the room dark and the air stale with the smell of dust. The library.

"_Mi dispiace_, _messere_," he murmured quietly, bowing to the man he dimly remembered to be the librarian. "I have had a rather trying day."

The man's frown crinkled into something resembling a sympathetic expression. "Students giving ya trouble, aren't they?" His mouth widened into a wry, toothless smile at Ezio's wordless nod. "Go on already; I shan't trouble ya no more. If it's peace ya seek, the library truly is yer last refuge. Few students here, except the quiet and studious ones! Any questions, come and ask me, will ya?"

"Of course. Good day to you, _Messer_..."

"Dolus. Just ask fer old Dolus." A dry cackle. "He'll help ya out right enough."

The old man shuffled off slowly, occasionally replacing a book in its shelf while muttering to himself under his breath. Ezio threw him a look full of pity. Every time he walked into the library, the same scene repeated itself the man introducing himself to every visitor in the library, using a different name each time. Dolus today. Pierre the day before. The day before that, it had been Robert. Senility had completely destroyed the old man's mind, and yet he could still remember the location of each and every book in this vast library with perfect clarity, even though the faces of students and teachers, even his own name, eluded him.

Seeing the old man shuffle along the shelves, remembering nothing but the titles of books and the names of authors long claimed by death was a tragedy by itself, was a fate that Ezio couldn't do anything about even if he wanted to.

Ezio shuddered. Old age had taken some of his memories away too. He hoped that it would never happen to him again. He couldn't think of a more terrifying fate.

But now, to find those books again...

Soon, Ezio was seated at a lectern, a little tower of old tomes and scrolls piled up on the little side table. At first, he'd been worried about the language the mages used to write. He spoke and read French well enough, so he could communicate verbally, but he was worried that their script would be completely incomprehensible to a stranger like him.

He was only partly right. The language resembled the alphabet used by the Catholic Church to write their tomes, but it resembled some sort of strange Latin intermixed with Greek and Arabic, along with languages that Ezio had never heard of before... and the script looked like a mixture of symbols all those languages, but were slightly different, as if they had developed differently from the world that Ezio once knew.

The first time he read it, he got a headache after one measly hour, unable to continue as he tried to make sense of this strange world's language and expressions, terms and etymologies that made no sense at all, frustrating his progress. But he doggedly kept at it, continuing to read in the library every day. Each day he read more and more, and after a week, he noticed that he could read more or less fluently, even though he still had to guess every third word for it to make sense. Still, his guesses were getting more accurate, he was sure of it.

For some reason, Ezio thought that learning to read this foreign script was _easy_. It was as if his brain had suddenly cleared, lapping up knowledge like a thirsty horse would guzzle water from the trough. As if he was back in his youth, studying the Roman classics at his father's knee.

Ezio relished that feeling. But still, he was here for another reason. He now knew that Professor Colbert and the headmaster of the Academy were hiding something from him, even though he didn't exactly know _what_. Something involving the 'Gandalfr' and the return of something they called the Left Hand of God. Ezio smirked. Listening at windows did occasionally pay off.

Still, they had taken the Apple somewhere he couldn't find it, which was worrying. They called it 'magical', yet they had no idea of the true power the potential, the temptation, the _danger_ that lay within it.

The whole situation sounded ominous to him, so he looked in all books he could: manuals to alchemy and magic, historical genealogies and records, old books that seemed to contain magical lore that he couldn't make head nor tails of, tales and aphorisms told of this world's God, his prophet Brimir and the men and women venerated by the common folk as his 'Saints'...

Nothing. The word Gandalfr and the phrase 'Left Hand of God' only cropped up in a handful of the oldest texts, and even then they were only fleeting mentions that led nowhere when pursued further. No footnotes, no interpretations by later writers, nothing. It was frustrating, especially to a man who had researched and decoded hundreds of years' worth of old coded messages and ancient documents of the Assassin and Templar Orders to search for the location of the fabled Temples or the Pieces of Eden. Leonardo had been the genius with figuring out these things, but his Assassin friend had been an avid student.

Ezio put his book back on the lectern, sighing wearily and closing his eyes. The light coming through the window was already growing faint, the horizon a bloody red as the sun set. Another evening with no tangible results.

_Oh, well. I'll just have to come back tomorrow. It looks like I will have enough time in the world anyway. _

The Assassin yawned widely, his jaw cracking with disuse. He drew his hand away from his mouth, thoughtfully eyeing the runes on the back of his left hand. He hadn't been able to find any information on those either, but he was sure that they were important in one manner or another. The magicians seemed to attach great importance to them.

He was so lost in thought that he nearly missed the small movement out of the corner of his eye as someone stood next to him. Ezio's arm inside its bracer twitched, an ingrained reflex begging to impale the one who had surprised him.

Luckily he showed restraint, especially considering that it was a frail little girl that stood there, staring at him without blinking.

He smiled. "_Buena sera, signorina_. Still studying at this late hour?"

Tabitha blinked, shifting the ridiculously large stack of book in her arms slightly, and nodded. Ezio smiled politely. "I see. May I ask what books you're reading?"

The silent girl hesitated for a moment and then nodded mutely, holding the stack out slowly. Ezio picked the first book off the top, carefully opening the cover. You couldn't be too careful with some of these old tomes, a lesson he'd learned quite bitterly when examining Altair's old documents. Some parts had become completely illegible thanks to careless handling.

"'_A Repetitorium to the Uses and Applications of Triangle Level Ice Magicke and its derivatives_, he read aloud, struggling with the odd symbols and the strange French dialect. He frowned for a moment as he skimmed the first page, understanding none of the terms used, then chuckled as he returned it to Tabitha. "It sounds interesting, but I'm afraid I cannot find any use for it. You must be quite a skilled mage if you are able to comprehend this art." He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Unfortunately, I haven't found anything remotely related to the thing I have been looking for. _Che fastidio..._"

"Subject?" Tabitha asked quietly, startling him.

"Pardon?"

The blue-haired girl's expression remaining impassive at his befuddlement. "Research subject," she clarified as she set her books down on a free shelf.

"Er... does the word 'Gandalfr' mean anything to you?" he asked hopefully.

Tabitha cocked her head to the side, did an about-turn and disappeared among the darkening shelves. "Wait here," he heard her whisper before he could ask where she was going.

Ezio shook his head, bemused, and set about cleaning up his lectern. The only people he'd ever met that were as quiet as that odd child were either those struck dumb by illness or the poor souls that had gotten their tongues cut out when the Papal soldiers ransacked Monterrigioni. And even they showed far more emotion than the silent mage.

He was about to leave when Tabitha returned, her step as silent as a ghost's. "Here," she said softly, holding out a small book.

It was old and well-thumbed, though someone seemed to have taken great care of it. She was staring at him intently through her spectacles as he took it, his calloused fingers gently brushing against her small hands. He looked at the title and barely made it out in the dying sunlight from the window: _The Book of Brimir_.

"_Molto curioso..._ What kind of book is it?"

"Stories," she whispered softly, never looking away. "Parables. Fairytales. A time long gone."

"And you will think I will find what I look for in here?"

"Not think. Certain," she said, her clipped answer all the reassurance that Ezio needed.

The Assassin smiled gratefully, bowing to the small mage. "_Mille grazie, signorina_. Your generosity truly knows no bounds."

Tabitha's expression never changed, though she seemed unsure at his reverence. Ezio read people far too well not to miss that slight shift in the girl's footing.

"Wait," the girl quietly ordered, before silently stepping to her own stack of books, returning a moment later with another, thicker tome. "For you."

"Me? What is it?"

Tabitha hesitated, just for a moment, before holding the book out a little further. "Present," she said quietly, nearly impossible to hear.

"From you?" He chuckled at the bit of colour that flushed her cheeks. "Generous indeed. Thank you; I accept it gratefully." He quickly slipped the two books into one of the larger pouches on his belt, picked up his stack of books and made another reverent bow. "I bid you good night, _signorina_." He smiled, repeating the blessing he'd often heard amongst the teachers in the school. "May the Founder and his Saints guide you."

"And you," Tabitha replied softly.

Ezio nodded, walking past the young girl. As he passed a certain corner full of shadow, he paused for a moment, turning his head slightly to peer into the darkness. He smirked widely and winked, disappearing through the library's entrance a moment later.

Tabitha hadn't moved an inch when Kirche approached her a moment later, looking put out. "I think he actually _saw_ me. Did you remember to weave your concealment spell, Tabitha?" The redhead scowled as Tabitha nodded her head. "Then how did he spot me? Your spells are usually flawless."

"Always," she corrected, stepping to the window.

"Well, _of course_ your spells are always flawless," Kirche muttered, tapping her foot in annoyance. "You are undoubtedly the most skilled mage among us students. No commoner should have been able to see through your illusion! How did _he_ of all people do it, then?"

Tabitha shrugged, watching the last rays of the sun disappear through the window. She had a nagging suspicion, but she doubted that it could be true.

And yet, it made so much sense...

_Gandalfr. _

"He'll be a tricky one to snag," Kirche muttered, tapping her chin in thought. A grin split her face after a moment. "That's fine. It makes the game more interesting. Are you going to help me, Tabitha?"

Tabitha silently picked up her books, carefully balanced the stack in her arms and briskly walked away. The library would close soon.

Kirche pouted. "I guess that's a no, then."

...

In the week before the familiar's examination, Louise figured that something was bothering Ezio. He was still as unfailingly charming as ever to everyone he met, but he seemed withdrawn and distracted. When he wasn't practicing his climbing or swordsmanship or helping out the other servants with the occasional chore, Louise found him with a nose buried in one book or another, lengthy notes in his flowing script scattered everywhere around him. He'd once fallen asleep at a lectern in the library, and Louise, wondering what in the Founder's name could occupy him to such a degree, had skimmed over his writings. She was stunned to find it to be an extremely well-written outline of basic arcane theory, outlining several theories on the source of magic, the basic four elements, and most of their possible combinations and applications. Why a commoner would be interested in magic something he could never attain to such a degree was beyond her.

Now, the afternoon before the arrival of the princess (an event that Louise anticipated with equal parts elation and nervousness), they were both still in the courtyard, crossing swords. Ezio was walking her through her drills and the occasional spar she'd gotten much better since she began, or so she thought but he still seemed to brood over something, his expression thoughtful and distracted.

Louise was getting furious that he still could effortlessly beat her without even really paying attention. She lunged at him, aiming for the weak spot at his inner thigh, only one of many places he had pointed out to her to deal out crippling damage.

A moment later, she was sprawled out on her back, disarmed and her ribs hurting from the blow that the vest-clad man had landed on her chest. She sat up, wheezing and hacking, glaring at Ezio with a baleful eye. "Damn... you..."

"Now now, no complaining," he chided, shaking his head with a small smile. "You're getting better at this, but rushing in like a bull is dangerous. You need to wait for the opportune moment."

"And how do I recognize this opportune moment?" she asked spitefully. "So far, all you seem to do is beat me around the courtyard!"

"Practice, mostly," Ezio said cheerfully, throwing back her sword. She caught it effortlessly. "You can look at your opponent's feet, for example. When he stumbles or when his balance is otherwise unstable," he mimed tripping over his own feet, "rush in when his defence is weak. Or watch his arms and shoulders perhaps you'll spot a weakness or an opening you can break through by the way he holds his wrists, or see when he plans to strike. When he raises his arm for an overhead strike, lunge for the stomach or feet, or perhaps you should evade the first strike and counter-attack when his guard is still extended." The Assassin tapped his chin thoughtfully. "_Che altro_...I have always found that watching your opponent's expression is a good indicator of when they want to attack. People rarely hide their emotions in battle."

"I can't see or do any of those things yet!" she complained petulantly.

"Which is why I said that it is mostly a question of practice, _piccina_," Ezio acknowledged, adjusting his grip on the wooden sword, and smiled lightly. "Why do you think I make you spar all the time? It practices your reflexes, your eyes to watch your enemy and the environment around you. The grass, the ground, the walls, the sun in your eye, the sound of my footsteps." A smile flickered around his mouth. "Believe me, you are far more difficult to hit than a week ago."

Louise narrowed her eyes, temper still flaring. "So why do you still beat me around the courtyard like a children's ball?"

He shrugged. "Just because you are more difficult to hit than before does not mean that I cannot hit you. A week of training will not change the fact that you have no experience on the battlefield. I do." Ezio raised his sword in his usual ready stance, smirking. "But don't worry, that's what training is for. _Preparati_, Louise!"

This time he was the one who was attacking, repeatedly slashing at various openings that Louise had left in her defence. The frail noble backpedalled, evading or redirecting the heavy wooden blade as well as she could. She had learned early that directly blocking Ezio's attacks was a bad idea he was simply stronger and faster than her; even a perfectly executed block could be broken or force her off-balance, leaving her wide open for a coup de grace. So she stepped, evaded and dodged as well as she possibly could.

She stepped to the side, avoiding a lunge that would have speared her through the gut, attempting a counter to Ezio's head immediately afterwards. He ducked under the swing, but was forced to step back as she immediately kept up the attack, slapping aside an overhead swing using the back of a gloved hand with an approving smile.

Louise had no illusions that if Ezio had wanted to kill her, he could have done so instantly. She had seen him fight Guiche, and he'd been far faster and nimble then, cutting through the constructs like a sickle through hay. But this was training, so he was giving her a chance.

He smiled in approval as she quickly struck three times in a row, forcing him to step back to avoid her flurry of blows. He easily deflected her next strike with the point of his wooden sword, and Louise couldn't help but smirk back. She truly was getting better at this, just like he told her.

But still, if she wanted to actually _hit_ him...

She feinted an attack to her left and Ezio turned, blocking her and twirling on the ball of his heel, intending to slash down as he turned. Louise could only imagine his expression of surprise as she grabbed the collar of his vest as his back was turned, pulling on it as hard as she could. He lost his balance, stumbling and falling onto his back at the unexpected attack, and Louise made to stab him as he lied helplessly on the ground.

Ezio was _still_ faster, though: as he fell onto his back, he rolled over his own shoulder, the wooden sword's point missing him with nary an inch or two, regaining his footing and slapping away her next strike with practiced ease.

He didn't press the attack, though, looking at her with an odd expression that was both surprised and intrigued. Louise lowered her own sword, disappointed. "Merde alors," she muttered dejectedly, frowning. "It didn't work."

"Louise," Ezio asked carefully. "_Why_ exactly did you do that? Grabbing me, I mean."

She scowled at him. "You know exactly why I did, you smug jerk! You're faster than me, you're stronger than me, and you had Founder knows how many years to gain experience!" She pointed her sword at him in anger. "I couldn't beat you in swordplay even if I _wanted_ to! Not in a hundred years. So I had to try something else, something you wouldn't expect."

"So you tried to grab my collar to get me off-balance?" he asked incredulously. "Isn't that what you nobles here consider 'cheating'?"

"It nearly worked, didn't it?" she fired back belligerently.

Ezio just looked at her before bursting out in laughter. "Yes, it nearly did. Well done, Louise, well done indeed!" He patted her head, chortling. She glowered at him, angry and confused by his sudden show of affection. She had expected him to be angry. "I thought that you were never going to understand, but you are learning well! If you cannot beat a foe the normal way, cheat! That's how the greatest swordsmen win their battles!"

"Is that so?" a voice called out from behind Louise. She flinched and turned around quickly.

There, near the entrance to the hall, stood Guiche de Gramont. His arms, whole once again, were folded across his chest and he was scowling at the two of them, his expression quietly furious. He looked the same as ever in his dapper uniform and open shirt, but there was a new thing that drew the eye when looking at him. The scar across the bridge of his nose was there, cutting deep into his skin, the angry red slash marring the good looks and pretty face he'd once been so proud of.

Guiche hadn't taken his defeat during the duel in the courtyard very well _at all_. He'd been exposed as a shameless womanizer and soundly thrashed by someone unable to use magic, someone who was supposed to be inferior to him. The other boys had distanced himself from him and his disgrace, the girls keeping as far away from him as they could. His fiancé Montmorency apparently still hadn't forgiven him, refusing to even look to him, even when he tried to approach her. Louise knew that had the duel taken place at court, the Gramont family would have been the laughingstock of the entire nobility. Even now, rumours about his father's reaction to his youngest son's defeat still flew about, a subject which Guiche stoically refused to talk about.

So it surprised Louise that he had decided to keep his scar. Guiche was one of the vainest people she ever knew, proud of his good looks and shameless enough to use them to get his way. Any decently skilled healer would have been able to remove the ugly scar, Sister Catherine especially, yet Guiche had kept it. It defied everything Louise thought she knew about him. Had he once been jovial and cheerful, though condescending and arrogant, he was now far more quiet and taciturn, avoiding people whenever he could. It was worrying.

He now strode towards them, still glaring angrily at Ezio. "Is that what you mean to say, Seigneur Ezio? If you cannot defeat your opponent by honourable means, one ought to cheat, to soil their own name and that of their family? To disgrace themselves?"

Ezio shrugged nonchalantly, not even looking particularly surprised at the interruption. "I prefer being disgraced to being dead. Life is usually more enjoyable that way."

"Don't you have any shame?" Guiche cried out, looking frustrated. Louise quickly stepped out of his way, leaving a clear space between the two men. There was no wand in Guiche's hand, but it always paid to be careful with angry nobles. "Honour is what _defines_ nobility! Without honour, magic is just a tool in a fool's hand, wielded for nothing more than the mage's gratification and petty desires!"

"Like the way you sought to humiliate me?" Ezio asked sharply, unflinching. "Like the way you wanted to silence me when I disgraced you in front of your peers? By wielding magic against someone who you thought was helpless?"

Guiche's mouth had snapped shut, unable to answer, so he simply glared at Ezio, his fists clenching violently at his sides, as if restraining himself from doing something he might regret later. His fingers slackened a moment later and he sighed, hanging his head.

"I have regretted my actions since the day you defeated me, Seigneur Ezio," he admitted quietly. "I was rash, I was short-sighted, I was foolish. Even if I had beaten you into the ground, I wouldn't have been in the right. I still would have been nothing more than a spoiled brat lording himself over others. Sooner or later, I would have offended someone who wouldn't tolerate my foolishness and with the power to destroy me utterly. My humiliation opened my eyes."

He suddenly fell to one knee, bowing his head as low as he could. "Which is why I humbly beg your forgiveness."

Louise stared at Guiche, dumbfounded. Even Ezio looked surprised, blinking quickly. "_Prego?_"

"I apologize for treating you like a common servant!" Guiche yelled out quite suddenly, making Louise jump. "I apologize for trying to blame you for my own disgraceful behaviour! I apologize for the way I insulted you and Mademoiselle de la Vallière!"

Now _that_ shocked her to the core. Guiche had never referred to her with such a respectful form or address. She'd always been 'Zero' or 'Vallière'. Most students in the school refused to even talk to her, and 'Mademoiselle young_ lady_, the term for a young, unmarried girl of _noble_ birth was only rarely used, and then only by friendly teachers like Colbert or out of grudging necessity by her peers.

"And I also want to thank you for something else, Seigneur Ezio," Guiche mumbled quietly, but her sharp ears still caught it. "I want to thank you for sparing my life. You could have killed me without consequence, but you showed mercy. I thank you. I now know what true nobility is, even though you carry no title."

During his shouted rant of apologies and mumbled thanks, Guiche had never raised his head once, keeping it bowed in shame. Ezio just watched him thoughtfully before suddenly bursting out in laughter, causing the boy to look up at him in confusion.

"Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic, _ragazzo_!" the Assassin chortled, holding out a hand to the startled Guiche. With a quick tug, the confused noble was up on his feet, not really knowing what to say.

Ezio chuckled at his befuddled expression. "While I do appreciate your apologies and thanks, I do not really think that I am the one that needs them!" He raised a stern finger as Guiche opened his mouth to protest, cutting him off instantly. "You hurt the feelings of two very beautiful ladies that day, _Messer_ de Gramont. I expect you to apologize to _them_ as well. I think they would appreciate it more than I ever would."

The blond playboy winced with guilt. "Yes... I'm quite aware of that. But I felt that I should apologize to you first, for some reason..."

"It's easier to face your mortal enemy than the wrath of a woman you've fallen for, isn't it?" Ezio said knowingly, throwing an arm around Guiche's shoulder and winking.

"That's definitely true, yes," Guiche agreed, unable to stop himself from laughing nervously.

"You should talk to them soon," Ezio recommended cheerfully. "If you leave them to stew on it and think it over, you will have to endure more of their litanies later! And they get more inventive too!"

"And how would you know that, Seigneur Ezio?" Guiche fired back, all nervousness lost and instead smiling amicably, though he still looked slightly baffled.

Ezio grinned slyly and made a dramatic gesture. "Let me tell you a story of a young man of Firenze and the stupid mistake he made with a certain lady from Genua..."

Louise watched in fascination as Ezio and Guiche chatted animatedly with each other, almost as if they were old friends. The Assassin was telling the youth some sort of tale it wasn't exactly difficult to work out who the 'stupid young man' in the story was Ezio narrating with good humour and a twinkle in his eye, Guiche laughing and making the occasional comment. They looked like any two friends sharing lewd stories and trading jokes a common enough sight in the Academy. They looked _nothing_ like two men who just tried to brutally slaughter each other just a week ago.

"–and then she fell down the balcony because she was haranguing me as loudly as she could, and I had to _jump_ into the river to save her from drowning! She was surprisingly... grateful later, though," Ezio said with a mischievous wink, making Guiche laugh out loud. Ezio sighed dreamily, lost in blissful remembrance. "And that is the story how I lost my innocence."

"All right!" Louise called out loudly, her face flushing a deep ruby red. "As _fascinating_ as your bedroom escapades may be–"

"Oh, did you hear that, _Messer_ Gramont?" Ezio said, elbowing the youth in the ribs with a large grin on his face. "She finds those stories 'fascinating', she says! Do you think I should tell a few more? Why, there was this incident once in a bordello with a jackass, a honeycomb, and a priest who happened to pass by on business–"

"ENOUGH!" Louise yelled, flushing a dark red all the way to her throat, Guiche shaking with repressed mirth and Ezio doing nothing to hide the shit-eating grin on his face. "I came here to learn swordsmanship, not to hear tasteless stories about your exploits with some goddamned courtesans!"

"Some of the finest women I ever knew were whores, Louise," he chided, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. "You should not insult them; it's terribly rude."

"I– what– rude– _You_ were the one who called them _whores_!" she spluttered indignantly.

"Well, that's what they are," Ezio answered pragmatically, looking entirely too unconcerned. "I mean, the nobility uses the term 'mistress' because they don't want to admit that they have the same depraved urges as the 'filthy' commoners do, but–"

He managed to push Guiche away just in time to block Louise's furious strike aimed to slice him open from throat to groin. Even though she was holding a wooden stick, he didn't doubt her intent. He raised an eyebrow at her murderous expression as they broke apart. "_Mi scusi_, have I offended you?"

"Oh no, Ezio," she said, her tone deceptively sweet and even. Her face was still purple with rage, though, her eyes glinting dangerously. "This is just me practicing to find those openings you told me about. Practice makes perfect, right?"

"Well, I'm glad to know that these sticks are blunt, then," he said drily as they began circling each other warily. "Too much practice and you might start cutting me in earnest."

"I'm sure that Sister Catherine could reattach a limb or two. If you asked her nicely," she added with a vicious smile.

"How decidedly disconcerting... I think you can see, _Messer_ de Gramont," Ezio called out to a concerned Guiche, "that my mistress has found a new motivation to learn! So," he dodged a slash to the throat, parrying quickly as Louise charged towards him recklessly, "if you'll just excuse us for now!"

Louise lunged forward, stabbing at him with several short bursts of speed. However, Ezio pushed against her, trapping the crossguard of his sword against hers, locking it in place. Louise snarled and tried to push against him, but Ezio kicked out, his foot slamming into her stomach and sending her flying. Louise tried to stand and winced painfully, clutching what she knew was later going to be a colourful bruise.

"You have to be careful, Louise," Ezio admonished, hauling her to her feet. Louise gasped in pain, still winded. "A good swordsman doesn't only use their sword, they use everything at their disposal feet, fists, elbows, kicks, a handful of dust to get an enemy off balance." He smiled genially at her as she glared at him, still unable to speak through the pain and lack of air. "Ah, don't frown like that. It does not become you very well. I am sure you will thank me later. Care to join in, _Messer_ de Gramont?" he called out cheerfully.

Guiche blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" the fop asked, startled.

"Do you want to practice swordsmanship as well?" Ezio repeated with a smile. "After your dismal performance last time, I think you need it."

"...You'd help _me_ to learn how to use the sword?"

"Of course!"

"Why?" the youth asked, flabbergasted. "I tried to kill you! Humiliate you!"

"Well, considering that it was you who ended up looking like a fool and the noticeable lack of you trying to stab me with metal women at this moment, I think I can trust you not to try and kill me with a wooden stick during practice." Ezio chuckled. "Besides, Louise needs a sparring partner that doesn't constantly beat her into the ground."

"Thank you, Ezio," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I _really_ needed that confidence boost."

"See? She agrees!" Ezio said, clapping Louise in the back with a grin. Louise winced, the various bruises all over her body flaring painfully. "We usually practice when the bell tolls five, after classes are done. Join us if you wish, _Messere_."

"I will!" Guiche said, sounding surprisingly happy. He produced his signature rose wand from the inside of his robes, striking a dramatic pose with hot-blooded enthusiasm. "But not today! Not yet! First, I must apologize to the two visions of loveliness degraded by my disgraceful behaviour and beg their forgiveness! Only then will I accept to learn the secrets of your awe-inspiring swordsmanship! I look forward to it, Ser Ezio! I will learn everything I can so that I can redeem myself! I promise you that!" He gave them both a deep, elaborate courtly bow, beaming as he stood up. "Until then, I wish you a good evening, Seigneur Ezio, Mademoiselle de la Vallière!"

And with a last dramatic flourish of his rose, he turned on his heel and walked back into the halls of the Academy, his confident stride returned at last. Ezio and Louise watched until he disappeared, the first with poorly hidden amusement, the other with distaste.

"I don't like him," Louise said bluntly. "He gets on my nerves."

"And why is that, _prego_?"

"He overdramatizes everything he does, like the main actor in a cheap play," she said disdainfully. "He would have done well in a group of travelling comedians, I'm sure."

Ezio laughed. "He would make a good _capitano_, I'm sure!"

"What's that?"

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you nobles supposed to be cultured? You should visit the theatre every once in a while."

Louise glared right back. "I've never been." Theatre, and any culture besides history and music lessons, for that matter, hadn't exactly been one of her mother's priorities. History, yes. Strategy, yes. Magic, yes. Anything remotely smacking of weak decadence? No.

"Really? I'll take you one day." Ezio stretched his arms over his head, sighing. "I quite like him, you know."

"Who?"

"Guiche. He reminds me of myself when I was younger. Young, brash, foolish, and an inveterate skirt-chaser. Seeing him act like this is... nostalgic, in a way."

"Really?" she said drily. "What happened to change that attitude of yours, then?"

"My family was accused of treason and publicly hanged from the gallows in the town square."

Louise's breath caught in her throat and she stared at him, stricken. He'd said it so casually, but his smile was gone, replaced with an unreadable expression. He was looking up at the clouds, his eyes seemingly staring at something far away. No mocking smirk, no teasing grin. By that alone, she knew that he was telling the truth.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have asked."

Ezio blinked and looked down at her, chuckling after a moment. "How could you have possibly known?" he said, patting her head like that of a child's and making her pout. "It's not important. It happened so long ago... I have come to terms with it."

"Have you really?" Louise asked, unable to stop herself as the words blurted out. "Accepted it, I mean," she added quickly, taking the plunge.

Ezio stilled and he simply stood there, thinking for a moment. "I guess I have," he said slowly, smiling wistfully. "For a long time, nothing but hate drove me. But after years, decades even, of living with that hate, I realized that it was all useless."

"..._What_ was useless?"

He chuckled. "That's a story for another time, _piccina_. Now," he said with a cheerful grin, "let's get back to practice! God knows that you need it."

"Fine," she grumbled unhappily, assuming the starting position without even really thinking about it.

Ezio nodded approvingly. "That's a good form, Louise, but I actually meant that we should practice your magic for a bit."

"Magic?" she asked, flabbergasted. "Why in Brimir's name are we going to practice that?"

Ezio shrugged. "Why shouldn't we? You're a mage, _vero_?"

"But _how_ are we going to practice?" she asked, grimacing. "You're a commoner, and I'm..."

"A failure," Ezio finished bluntly at her hesitation. "Louise the Zero. The only student to consistently fail all practical exams ever set by the Royal Magical Academy of Tristain. The most prominent student expected to be expelled for lack of magical aptitude in the last century."

She glared defiantly at him. "You're surprisingly well informed."

Ezio smirked back insolently. "You told me most of that yourself the day we met, remember? And the servants can be quite chatty once you get to know them."

"Even the _commoners_ know about my failure?" Louise asked, sounding horrified.

The Assassin laughed at her expression. "Louise, these are the men and women that clean your rooms and serve your tables! Why _shouldn't_ they know what you talk about amongst yourselves? Servants always know far more than you want them to, I assure you!"

"Great," she said drily, rolling her eyes. "Even the commoners make fun of me, then?"

"Perhaps they do, perhaps they don't... Why do you care? Does it really matter what unimportant commoners think of you?" he asked shrewdly, teasing.

"Oh, forget it!" she said, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "What was this all-important thing with my magic that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"What impatience!" Ezio chuckled as she scowled. "All right, I will be serious now, I promise." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How to put this... I have a question for you."

"Ask, then."

"It might annoy you, though... Well, then: did _all_ of the spells you ever try to cast fail?"

She glared at him, but Ezio just looked back expectantly, tapping the wooden practice stick in a gloved palm.

Louise sighed, realizing that Ezio wouldn't simply stop because she decided to have a temper tantrum and storm off. He would just wait and ask tomorrow, or harangue her until he got an answer. He was stubborn like that. She poked the ground listlessly with her stick. "Yes, they all failed. Without exception."

"_How_, exactly, did they fail?"

She looked up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if you failed to do something, that means that you failed to achieve some sort of goal, right?" Ezio explained, sounding entirely too nonchalant. "When you cast magic, what exactly is your goal?"

"Now you're just confusing me," she said tersely.

Ezio rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Fine, _altessa_. Cast some magic, please."

"What, right now?"

"I can give you an invitation in writing, if you want, but I am not so sure that I am skilled enough to get your strange script right."

"All right, here goes," she snapped, raising her wand angrily.

Ezio backed off, frantically waving his arms. "Not at me, woman! I'd like to keep my limbs in one place, _per favore_! Aim for the tree trunk over there!"

"Spoilsport," she muttered, but did as she was told, taking aim at the tree at the other side of the courtyard. Concentrating, she focused on that vein of power she felt within her mind, restlessly twisting and coiling like an oiled snake, doing its best to elude her grasp. She began muttering the incantation, and she found the magic becoming docile, far more pliable, far more willing to listen to her.

"Fireball!" she called out, pointing the wand confidently.

Instead of the conflagration she expected, though, the tree trunk violently exploded, sending splinters everywhere.

Louise snarled, frustrated. That wasn't supposed to happen!

To her surprise, Ezio whistled, impressed. "_Dio e cielo..._"

He marched over to the tree, Louise reluctantly following as he inspected the melon-sized hole that had been punched cleanly through the front and back of the thick tree trunk. When she approached, Ezio turned towards her, raising an eyebrow. "_Merda_, Louise. You don't do things halfway, do you?"

"If you're referring to my failure..." she growled, hand clenching on her wand.

"Failure?" Ezio asked incredulously, pointing at the hole in the tree. "Have you _seen_ what you have just done? You just made a remote target _explode_ at a distance with a mere word and a wave of a glorified piece of wood! If that's not magic, what exactly is it supposed to be, then?"

"But that wasn't supposed to happen!" she wailed. "I was trying to conjure fire!"

Ezio gasped in mocking disbelief. "Oh, so it did not work _exactly_ the way you wanted it to. _Che orrore_!" He became serious again, looking stern. "How _dare_ you call yourself a failure when you are capable of things the commoners of this land can only dream of? Myself, I would have killed to be a walking musket."

She glared at him. "Now I _know_ you're making fun of me."

Ezio palmed his face, getting more and more annoyed by the minute. None of his novices had been so... _obstinate_ when attending his lessons. Having a reputation as a living legend amongst hired killers, he decided, was a teaching aid he was going to miss. "I am definitely _not_ mocking you! Now please stop being so stubborn and _look_ at the tree, _bene_? If anything, _this_ little stunt you pulled proves that you're capable of magic!" He looked at the violated tree and frowned. "Well, at least you can conjure explosions, even if you cannot do anything else," he amended.

"What, you mean I'm only capable of blowing things to smithereens?" she asked sceptically. "That's not exactly useful."

"Making anyone and anything explode into tiny bits and pieces? Sounds like a rather useful talent to me," he said sardonically. "If I could make things explode with my mind, I'm sure I would feel a lot safer about walking into a dark alleyway, _no_?" He tapped his chin. "Now, if you could only learn to _control_ the size and intensity of the explosion instead of making things disintegrate at random..."

"And how are we going to do that? Blow up as many things as possible and see what happens?" she asked sarcastically. Ezio grinned at her. "...I was joking."

"Well, _I_ wasn't." He walked back towards the other end of the courtyard, still grinning rather maniacally. "Let's try it again! _Andiamo_, no loafing about!"

Deciding that her familiar was quite insane, Louise nevertheless followed him. At Ezio's urging, she again tried to feel for the power inside her, but instead of trying to conjure fire or manipulate one of the other elements as she usually did, she visualized something exploding outwards with great power.

Like that keg of gunpowder she'd once seen catch fire in her father's arsenal...

"Explosion!" she called out, pointing her wand.

There was a sound like a cannon going off, catching her completely off guard. The tree trunk literally burst apart higher along its length in a spectacular shower of sawdust, the grated wood being blown everywhere by the rush of air that accompanied the display of magic.

Ezio and Louise both blinked, both liberally covered in the powdered wood.

"Well, that seems to have worked..." Ezio said slowly. "It looks as if you can control the power of your spells after all—"

There was an ominous creaking sound before the tree toppled sideways, the upper part crashing to the ground in a rain of splinters and twisted wood before coming to a rest with a surprisingly human-sounding groan.

"—but I think it would be best that we go into the forest if we plan on continuing this. I do not think you would want to accidentally blow up a wall." He considered the obliterated tree. "Or the whole school, for that matter."

"No," Louise said faintly, puffing away a speck of sawdust on her nose. "I don't think that would be a good idea. Blowing up the school, I mean. Going into the forest sounds good, though. Yes."

Master and familiar quickly left the courtyard before someone could ask who would be responsible for cleaning up this mess.

...

"Well, that was exhausting," Louise grumbled as she changed into her nightclothes.

"What was?" Ezio called out.

"I don't think I've ever used that much magic in one sitting in years!" Louise answered loudly, frowning at the wide open window showing the dark town outside. "Can you _please_ come back in now? It's freezing!"

"Stop complaining," Ezio retorted, and she thought she could actually _hear_ the grin in his voice. "A little fresh air will do you good, no? You're not very robust to start with!"

Louise marched over to the window, leaning outside and glaring at her familiar, who was casually sitting on a stone gargoyle and relaxing against the wall of the dormitory wing, not caring that he was high enough to break all the bones in his body if he should fall. Though after seeing him climb the highest tower in the Academy and jump into a haystack without even getting scratched, Louise seriously doubted him ever falling to his death. For all his unassuming physique, he was as balanced as any travelling acrobat and as lithe as any cat she'd ever seen. It was unnerving, really.

"Using spells makes us mages tired, considering that we use part of our concentration and willpower to perform spells." She glared at him. "Didn't you read about that kind of thing in the library? I thought you were interested in magic."

He shrugged, hands knotted behind his head. "I am. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't know what it feels like to cast a spell. I'm nothing but a commoner, remember?"

She shook her head as he grinned insolently at her. If she would have to use a word to describe Ezio, 'common' would be the last word she'd ever think of. Not that she would ever say that to his face he'd only tease her again and walk around with a smug smile all day.

"Tomorrow is the Familiar's Fair. I expect you to be ready and rested for it," she ordered, doing her best to sound imperious and regal.

He gave her a small mocking bow, elegantly twirling his hand in the air. "Your wish is my command, _signorina_. Ever faithful to you."

She snorted, not buying his act for a second. Ezio might have been charming, but he was anything but submissive. She couldn't help but think that he was treating all of this as an amusing diversion, a little joke he was indulging in. It rankled at her, not even getting taken seriously by her own familiar, but she could forgive him tonight.

When she blew out her candle, climbed into her bed and drew the curtains around her four-poster bed, she still felt that small feeling of giddy elation inside her. Ezio smug, arrogant, teasing, infuriating, and absolutely _brilliant_ Ezio had been right after all! She really _was_ a mage!

They had spent the rest of evening in the forest, trying to exactly work out what Louise's magic could do and what not. It had been nearly midnight when they returned, muddy and dirty from blowing up trees all day, but Louise had rarely felt better. There was a logic, a system to her strange use of magic, and both she and Ezio were sure that they'd found the first foothold for Louise to master it.

Magic was all about control and intent. It was the utter lack of control and wanton destruction accompanying every single one of her spells that had frustrated her teachers and nearly sent Louise into despair. But she _could_ control her magic if she had the intent to control her explosions. After blowing up a huge amount of trees in the forests surrounding the academy, she'd found she could manipulate the size of an explosion, its intensity, and the radius of its after-effects.

She had control. She really _could_ do magic! She _wasn't_ a failure!

_Well, you're less of a failure now_, a treacherous voice spoke in the back of her mind, whispering. _But you're still Louise the Zero. That hasn't really changed, has it?_

...Be quiet.

_Oh, little girl_, the voice continued with a chuckle, _do you really think people will call you a mage now if all you can do is destroy things? You can't build things like Guiche. You can't heal like Montmorency. You can't conjure fire like Kirche. You can't control the very air like Tabitha can. You've always been different... And compared to them, you are _still_ worthless. _

Louise had now buried her head into her pillow, clutching it violently. _I thought I had told you to shut up!_

_Perhaps, but I'm not going to listen_, the voice that sounded so eerily like her mother's continued, stern and perhaps even lightly amused. _Someone needs to take you down a peg or two. Overconfidence breeds arrogance, and arrogance breeds malice... _

_Those were Mother's words_. Louise gritted her teeth, clenching her eyes shut. _Whoever you are, you are NOT my mother. _

_Perhaps not. But you certainly cannot silence me like those peers of yours that doubted your skills by simply glaring and walking away. Fleeing. I'll just follow you until you can hear nothing but my voice... and right now, compared to the other students at this school, you are still worthless, and you always will be. _

"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Louise screamed out loud, her yelling muffled by the pillow crushed in her arms.

"Louise?" she heard a worried voice call out quietly. Her eyes snapped back open, and she saw that Ezio had drawn back the curtains, black eyes looking at her with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Nothing!" she snapped. "I'm fine, I'm fine..."

"_Baggianate!_" he retorted, sitting himself down next to her in the bed and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "You're crying."

Louise dabbed at her eyes, surprised to feel wetness on her cheeks. She glared at Ezio, despising him for seeing her as weak as she was now. "I hate you."

His mouth quirked in a small smile. "You don't."

"And how would you know that, pray?" she challenged.

"You have never felt true hate," he said quietly, still smiling. "True, burning hate; the kind that consumes every single part of your being until your only wish is to see the world consumed in flames, to make the world that caused that pain to be destroyed in its entirety."

"And how would be so sure?" she asked, her voice dropping to a small whisper as her head fell on his shoulder. "Apparently, I can only destroy things. What makes you think that I don't want to see the world burn?"

He chuckled. "_Assurdo_. I have seen men and women defined by their hate, and those that stepped back from the abyss. You saved Guiche from death at my hands because you felt it was right. When you had the choice, you stepped away. Don't worry, _piccina_." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, smiling. "You do not hate me. You do not hate anyone. You have nothing to fear."

"...I can still hear the voices, you know."

He frowned. "What voices?"

She shuddered in his arms, and again he noticed how frail she was. "They come at night," she whispered, eyes closed and shivering. "Like a bee buzzing at the edge of my mind. I hear them, whispering and mocking me and telling me all of my faults and mistakes and they _don't stop_–"

"Do you pray, Louise?"

She blinked, looking at him in nonplussed confusion. "Of course I do."

"To whom?"

"God. Brimir. His Saints." She frowned at Ezio, who looked far more serious than usual. "What does it matter?"

"Then pray," he said, looking at her with complete seriousness. "Perhaps it will help."

She scoffed. "It never has before."

"Try again," he said, insistent. He smiled, running a hand through her hair that glowed in the moonlight. "Perhaps He will listen, just for tonight."

"...Alright," she conceded, slipping out of his hold and sighing. "I guess it can't hurt."

Ezio nodded, smiling as he patted her head and got up. "_Bene_. I'm sure it will help you sleep."

"Let's see," she said listlessly, looking unconvinced. She nevertheless leant back into her pillow, folded her hands and closed her eyes, trying to remember the words from long ago.

A moment later, she spoke quietly, almost singing under her breath.

"_Hail to thee, eternal God, Lord of lords and King of kings.  
Thou who hath created the seas and its fishes, we thank thee.  
Thou who hath created the earth and its crops and animals, we thank thee.  
Thou who hath created mankind in thy image, free to roam this beautiful world of thy creation, we thank thee._"

Ezio had stepped back to the window to close the window, absentmindedly listening to the quiet prayer. He surveyed the city outside, frowning as his sharp eyes spotted some movement at one of the main gates in the wall below. The moonlight disappeared, replaced by darkness as he narrowed his eyes at the group of riders that were cantering through the dark streets. Louise was still praying, her soft voice sounding as if she was remembering a children's song.

"_Though we may walk in darkness, thou hast sent thy saints to lead us.  
Though we may be clouded by ignorance, thou hast sent thy Founder to teach us.  
Though we may be thy creatures, weak of flesh and mind, thou hast sent thy sword and shield to protect us, and your Right and Left Hand to carry out thy will_."

Ezio had carefully observed the gates of the town when he had some free time to wander the streets it always paid to know what kind of travellers visited a town. Most of the town's visitors were peasants from the surrounding countryside selling their produce, or merchants travelling in caravans to hawk their wares. Richly-clad courtiers and harried messengers galloped through the gates at regular intervals it was obvious that the Academy of Tristain held some political significance, as isolated and small a town it may have been.

But this group was different. For a start, the guards didn't bother stopping them, instead hurriedly getting out of their way.

"_Though we may be weak and terrified, thou hast granted us power over thy domain, to protect us against the unknown horrors that wish us harm, and for that we thank and praise thee.  
Surely as thy wrath is great and thy mercy is infinite, thou willst lead us back to the Homeland, in all its glory and greatness, where milk and honey run in rivers, to drive out the heathens residing there and create thy kingdom_."

The group was cantering at an even pace towards the academy building, and even from a distance Ezio could see that all of them were experienced riders, moving in a practiced battle formation that denoted wariness. They all wore concealing hoods and travelling cloaks, but Ezio distinctly saw the sharp rapiers and arming swords hanging at their sides, the pistols and riding muskets in their bandoliers and saddles standing out starkly in the eye of his mind.

Ezio observed the group dismount in the courtyard below, their horses getting taken away by practiced stablehands in complete silence. Not a single word was uttered, the only sound being a horse's occasional snort and clopping hoof. In fact, the servants didn't even seem surprised at the riders' arrival at this ungodly hour, which probably meant that these men and women were expected by someone.

The Assassin closed the window quietly, frowning. Two dozen men and women, all experienced riders with battle-trained chargers, and armed to the teeth arriving in complete secrecy. Yet none of them seemed to be mages, at least not at first glance. That didn't bode well at all.

He heard Louise yawn quietly as she finished her prayer in a sleepy whisper. "_May thy Founder... and thy Saints... and the Father of Understanding guide us_."

"...That's a nice prayer," Ezio said softly as he silently walked to her bedside, doing his best to mask his surprise.

The last line of that prayer seemed _eerily_ familiar. A Templar blessing, in fact.

"Thank you," Louise said sleepily, her eyes already drooping closed. She yawned again. "It's the Founder's Prayer... The first prayer any disciple of Brimir learns..."

"Do you know who wrote it, _piccina_?" he asked quietly, insistently, kneeling at her bedside.

Louise shrugged sleepily, eyes already closed. "Who knows? My mother taught it to me... it's said that the prayer was given to Brimir by God himself on a mountaintop in the Homeland..."

Ezio frowned as he took one of Louise's hands, stroking a thumb across it in a soothing manner like he'd done with his own daughter, even as his thoughts were awhirl. _Isn't that the legend of Moses receiving the Decalogo from God at Sinai? But that's in the Bible, isn't it? Che fastidioso... Then what is it doing here in this strange world so far from home?_

"Louise, can you tell me someth–" He stopped as he saw that she had fallen asleep, breathing lightly and evenly, her eyes peacefully closed.

Ezio couldn't help smiling ruefully. "Ah, Louise, _tu sei una peste..._" He gently gathered her bedcovers, pulling them up to her chin and making sure she was warm. Just like he had always done with Flavia. Louise moved slightly, snuggling back under the cover and now breathing easier.

Ezio chuckled quietly, quietly drawing the bed curtains behind him. "Good night, _piccina. _Sleep well. I am here for you."

Ezio himself quietly walked to his own mattress in the corner next to the door, a cheap linen affair filled with straw that Marteau had graciously loaned him (at Siesta's insistence, of course). Quitting his boots and leaving his dagger in easy reach, he soon drifted off into fitful slumber, his mind reeling with prayers and bibles and Founders.

Sleep wouldn't come easy that night.

...

At another one of the academy town's gates, a cloaked figure slipped past the snoring guards, the men having collapsed where they fell.

The woman, her distinctive green hair hidden underneath her hood, scoffed contemptuously. Her illusion had been nowhere near necessary – the men had been all but sleeping while standing, considering the tedium of guard duty at night – but it had been useful nonetheless. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

One of the guards, probably more resistant to magic than the others, mumbled something and moved in his sleep, as if to stand up. The woman lashed out, a heavy boot slamming into the side of his head and knocking him out cold. He wouldn't remember anything the next day except for a strange dream, cursing his bad luck when found out by the sergeant in charge of the gate.

Better safe than sorry. It was a creed that Fouquet – known here as Mademoiselle de Longueville, the youngest daughter of a minor noble and the headmaster's unassuming secretary – had lived by for many years now. It had helped, considering she was still alive to prove it.

An hour later, Fouquet was at a remote hill in the wild forests surrounding the academy, dropping small objects at regular intervals and waving her wand while muttering long, complicated incantations under her breath before moving on.

Fouquet looked up as she heard a dry branch crack, a flick of her wand sending out a fireball into the darkness of the surrounding wounds. There was a sharp yelp of pain as a predator's fur was singed, sending the animal scuttling away with a howl of pain.

Fouquet smiled in satisfaction as she continued with her preparations. There were few animals that could harm a mage, skilled or unskilled. No matter how clever or strong a wild beast may have been, they could do nothing against the pure fury of the elements summoned to cut them down. The same principle applied to humans – anyone with magic could dominate a commoner. It was a simple fact of life, and people had more or less accepted it, deciding to get on with their lives under the nobles' yoke.

_There's an exception to every rule, though..._

Fouquet frowned, remembering the Vallière girl's familiar slicing through puppets with contemptuous ease, as if they were nothing more than wheat before the scythe, felling a mage with nothing more than weapons and brutal, yet surprisingly efficient methods.

She remembered secretly watching the fight from a window of the academy. The familiar had been apprehensive, but never unduly nervous, concentrating solely on defeating his opponent. Taunting the young student mage had been just another tool to break down his opponent and cause him to make mistakes, allowing him to take advantage of the Gramont boy's weakness and fear. And he hadn't hesitated at all to use the chance to end the mismatched duel when he could.

She remembered his eyes during the duel black, cold, and utterly calculating as he dismembered Guiche de Gramont piece by piece, limb by limb, until all that was left of the boy was a crying, snivelling, and utterly broken mess on the ground behind him. A true killer.

Fouquet shook her head, smiling ruefully as she prepared another magical nexus point for her ritual. Why was she worried? Guiche de Gramont was a fool. Naturally talented, perhaps, but no one would have called him a trained warrior or particularly intelligent. Taking down a few hollow bronze puppets was certainly surprising – for a commoner, at least. But in retrospect, it was no great feat. Her worries were completely unnecessary.

After much walking, she stopped and held out an open hand, a small penknife in the other. With a grimace, she slashed the small blade across her palm, letting a few drops of her blood fall to the forest ground, muttering the final incantations all the while. She had finally completed her circle.

For a moment, nothing happened until the powerful Triangle-class mage felt something move beneath her feet move. The earth itself came alive, bowing to her will.

Fouquet smirked. There was a great difference between a few hollow bronze puppets and a specially created Blood Golem – the Vallière girl's familiar would be hard pressed to destroy something towering higher than the town walls, not to mention made of solid rock, grounded earth and sediment. From him, Fouquet had nothing to fear. The other mages like Colbert, Osmond, not to mention the royal heir Henrietta would be far more troublesome...

...But still, better to overdo things than fail miserably because she hadn't been properly prepared. Fouquet felt the earth move at her command, the hills changing slightly before becoming still on her orders, it could reform into any shape she wished it to, from a towering humanoid monster to a wall to a landscape of her own devising.

Fouquet couldn't hold back her smirk. It would be fun to see how he would react to _this_ little plan of hers...

...

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (May 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	6. Chapter VI – The Familiar's Fair

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

Ladies and gentlemen, both long-time readers and newer ones, a very, _very_ warm welcome to the Chapter Six of _On The Wings Of An Eagle!_

After an odyssey of broken computers, foreign keyboards, and a shitload of handwritten notes, I have finally gotten to updating this story. Thanks a lot for the reviews, they were the encouragement I needed when I felt the need to bang my head against the wall.

My Author's Notes will be more detailed at the end of this chapter, so I'm kind of breaking tradition. In any case, enjoy!

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

...

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter VI – The Familiar's Fair**

...

Sleep refused to take Ezio Auditore as he lay on his straw-filled mattress, tossing and turning uncomfortably. As much as the arrival of the unknown riders bothered him, they weren't the reason why he was so unsettled. No, what was wracking his mind was that last line of Louise's prayer.

The Father of Understanding. That elusive figure that the Templars spoke of to greet each other, to swear their oaths, to recognize each other across the multitudes of the civilized world. For a very long time, Ezio had assumed that this 'Father' was some sort of senior figure in the Templars' hierarchy, only to be repeatedly proven wrong when uncovered not one, but _two_ Grand Masters of the Templars, no authority higher than theirs to be found anywhere. His other theory, that of the Father being a guardian deity of some kind, was also disproven when the Templars turned out to be as agnostic, atheistic, and individually religious as the Assassins themselves. The Father of Understanding wasn't revered, prayed to, or given offerings. Ezio had infiltrated enough Templar strongholds and spied on enough of their meetings to at last know _that_.

So Ezio, who had rather more important things to worry about in his capacity as _Mentore_, decided to leave the matter be. His hunt for the Pieces of Eden and those mysterious Temples, the reconstruction of the various branches of the Assassin Order, and in the end his own quiet life in the Toscana with his family took priority over the search for a shadowy figure that may not have ever existed.

Until now.

Louise had said that that specific prayer was one of the oldest ones to exist in their country's religion, apparently written by their famed prophet Brimir himself many centuries ago. And the prayer itself seemed to be quite important by itself, if it was the first one any acolyte of Brimir learned. Did that mean that there were Templars in Halkeginia, so far away from his home? But how?

Ezio forced himself to stop thinking, taking a deep, measured breath. Whatever had happened such a long time ago, he wouldn't learn anything about it by needlessly speculating and losing sleep. Tomorrow, once this frivolous Familiar's Fair was over, he'd return to the library and start combing over the older texts. Perhaps the senile old monk would be able to help him find some tomes on the history of this world's religion...

Course of action decided, Ezio stretched himself out on his mattress and yawned. He'd need his rest for tomorrow; if that Familiar's Fair was as important as Louise claimed it to be, at least. And besides, just sleeping after that exhausting week would be fine too.

Soon enough, Ezio found his mind slowing down and his eyes drifting closed, lulled by the tranquillity of the Academy at night – until his abnormally sharp hearing picked up quiet footsteps at the end of this floor's corridor.

He frowned. The students were all asleep, and the servants wouldn't get up for a few hours yet. His hand drifted close to the dagger lying in easy reach next to his mattress.

He heard the footsteps quietly move along the corridor, approaching slowly before they suddenly stopped right outside Louise's door. Ezio's fingers clasped tightly around the dagger's hilt as he held his breath.

The door to Louise's dormitory opened with a slight creak of old hinges, a cloaked figure slipping inside before taking great care to silently close it. Ezio immediately recognized him – or her, for that matter, though he couldn't really tell thanks to the riding cloak's bulk – as one of the mysterious riders that he had seen entering the courtyard not too long ago. Unlike the others, though, he couldn't see this one carrying any visible weapons.

Which meant absolutely nothing, of course. A dagger could be hidden in a sleeve, or a string of silk meant to choke unfortunate victims was easily wrapped around a killer's wrist. Not to mention that poison only needed the small prick of a needle to kill. And he shuddered to imagine what kind of devious tricks those mages had come up with during their little feuds...

Life as as Assassin, he thought absent-mindedly, truly did give you an unhealthy sense of paranoia.

The figure snuck on tiptoes across the room towards Louise's bed, gently drawing back one of th four-poster bed's curtains. Louise lay in her bed, serenely asleep, and the figure hesitated for just a moment.

It took Ezio only that small moment of hesitation to slam his palm over the figure's mouth, holding the dagger to its throat in a silent warning. "_Silenzio, per favore_," he hissed menacingly into its ear, "or I will have some trouble explaining the bloodstains to my mistress tomorrow morning."

The figure had struggled, but as soon as he spoke, he or she stopped, frozen in fear. Sometimes, Ezio noted with dark amusement, he relished the effect he had on people.

"Now," he spoke quietly into the figure's ear, "I will move backwards towards the door. We are going to go outside, and then we are going to have a little... talk. If my mistress wakes up, I will kill you. Nod once if you understand."

The figure nodded, beginning to shake silently in his grip. Whoever he or she was, Ezio admired their control – there was genuine fear there, yes, but it didn't seem to take away their ability to think rationally. Surprising, really. A rare talent.

Ezio quietly began to move backwards, his captive taking the same small steps as him, until his back bumped into the door. With an elbow on the handle, he opened the heavy door and stepped outside.

"Close the door," he ordered the shivering figure. "_Discretamente, per favore_."

As soon as the figure had done so, he slammed him or her into the opposite wall, setting the dagger's point as the figure's throat and stepping close, cutting off all possible avenues of escape. At least Louise wouldn't have to see this.

"Now," Ezio said amiably, though his eyes were cold, "I have a few questions I want to ask you."

"...who are you?" the hooded figure asked, sounding panicked. "What were you doing in Louise's room?"

Ezio's eyes narrowed. A woman, and a rather young one too, by the sound of her voice. Not that this warranted any less caution. Many women he'd known in his life – including those he had personally trained – had been skilled killers even before they reached adulthood.

"I think you'll find, _signorina_," he said glacially, "that those are questions _I_ should be asking, not you. Now, answer me: who paid you to kill Louise?"

"What? I didn't want to k–"

Ezio glared right into the darkness of the woman's hood. "_Smettila di fare la commedia!_" he snarled, driving his forearm into her throat and slowly choking her. "Louise is the third daughter of the Duc de la Vallière, one of Tristain's most influential generals and landowners! Scores of his enemies, noble, common, foreign, local, would kill to get at him! Now answer me! Who paid you? And if you didn't come here to kill Louise, did you come to threaten or kidnap her? Speak already!"

"None of that," the figure choked out, weakly grappling at his arm. "No one paid me... I would never hurt Louise... I am her friend..."

Now Ezio was even more suspicious. In the few weeks he had spent in the young girl's company, it was painfully easy to see that she was utterly alone. The other students shunned her for her volatile magic and angry outbursts, and she had become cold and withdrawn as a result. There were no letters for her, nothing to indicate that anyone had ever tried to contact, that anyone had ever even _cared_ about his fiery little mistress.

So who was this woman, claiming to be a pariah's friend?

"How, exactly, are you Louise's friend?" he asked suspiciously.

"We met... as children..." the woman gasped out, her breath becoming short and wheezing. "Je vous-en prie, lâchez-moi..."

Recognizing that she was close to fainting, Ezio stepped back and let the woman slide down the wall to the floor. She was hacking and coughing, taking in deep, greedy lungfuls of air in a desperate attempt not to black out.

Ezio had no sympathy, however. He squatted down before her, dagger in hand. "Take off your hood," he ordered sternly. As the woman looked up, apparently not understanding, he impatiently tapped the dagger's blade against his palm. "_Presto_, _per favore_."

With shaking hands, the woman reached up and carefully drew her hood back, revealing quite possibly one of the most beautiful women Ezio had ever seen. Shoulder-length chestnut brown hair framed a fair-skinned and pretty face, gentle mouth, and eyes of a strange blue shade that Ezio had never quite seen before.

She only looked at him for a moment before her eyes snapped to the stone floor, afraid. Even as she sat there, helpless, powerless, and frightened, she had a presence that was hard to ignore.

"What is your name?" Ezio asked quietly, stowing his dagger in his belt. A quick look had told him that she really was unarmed, and she looked as if she wouldn't hurt a fly.

"Henrietta," the young woman said meekly. "Henrietta de Tristain."

"Henrietta de Tristain," Ezio repeated, scratching a stubbled cheek thoughtfully. "Now where have I heard... that name... before..."

His words drifted off as he stared at his captive with steadily rising horror. Henrietta de Tristain.

De _Tristain_.

Ezio slapped a palm to his forehead, groaning as he drew it down his face. Of _all_ the people he had to manhandle, interrogate, and nearly choke into unconsciousness by pure accident in the middle of the night, he absolutely _had_ to come across the sole heir to the country's throne, not to mention one of the most powerful mages in the entire realm. If Ezio could have cursed any gods he believed in, he would have certainly done so now.

"Oh, _maledizione_... Louise is going to _murder_ me..."

Henrietta looked up at him, blinking uncertainly. "...I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, nothing," Ezio said charmingly, standing up and sighing. "Only talking to myself and contemplating my fate. I do that on occasion." He gave the princess a deep, elegant bow with as many courtly twirls as he could manage, smiling. "Allow me to introduce myself. Ezio Auditore da Firenze, manservant and _guardia del corpo_ to Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Vallière, _al suo servizio_."

"Henrietta de Tristain," the young woman said, smiling uncertainly at the sudden about-turn in behaviour as she accepted Ezio's offered hand, the Assassin easily hauling the light woman to her feet. "Princess to the kingdom of Tristain, sole heir to the throne, and current regent due to my mother's illness." She gingerly touched her throat, wincing. "And one of Louise's oldest and dearest friends."

"Does that hurt?" Ezio asked worriedly, gently reaching out with a few outstretched fingers. "Perhaps I can—"

He stopped when he saw that Henrietta had drawn away, pressing her back into the wall with panicked eyes when he came closer. He stepped back and raised his hands in apology.

"I am truly, truly sorry, _vostra altezza_," he said softly, showing her that his palms were empty in an effort to calm her. "I thought you were someone hired by Louise's father's many enemies to hurt him through her, and I reacted accordingly. Had I known who you were, I assure you that I would have _never_ treated you in the same manner."

"...that's quite alright," Henrietta said quietly, her breathing easing as she gave him a faint smile. "I just never thought that there would be someone guarding Louise's sleep."

"Are you really alright?" Ezio asked, concern in his voice. "I wasn't exactly gentle."

Henrietta lightly touched her throat, the tips of her fingers coming away red. "It's nothing," she said hastily as she saw Ezio's expression. "Just a small cut. Nothing that a small healing spell can't cure." She smiled at him, obviously trying to put him at ease.

"Still, had I known–"

"Oh, stop it," Henrietta interrupted him, gathering up the courage to step closer to this strange foreigner that had attacked her and now looked genuinely repentant, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling crookedly at him. "Really, it serves me right for trying to visit an old friend by sneaking unannounced into her room at night like a common thief or cutthroat. It's _not_ your fault, but mine."

Ezio relaxed, smiling back. The princess had a way about her that put you at ease, it seemed. "Louise is an old friend, you say?"

"Oh yes, we used to play as children when her family visited the Royal Court." Henrietta's face fell. "Didn't Louise know that I would come to the Familiar's Fair to visit her?"

Ezio hesitated. "I'm not really in my mistress's confidence, _vostra altezza_," he said carefully, "but she never mentioned you."

"Oh." Henrietta looked away and gingerly rubbed her throat, seeming as if she was trying very hard not to look hurt. She finally turned back to him, clasping her hands together in supplication and looking up at him. "So, Monsieur Auditore, could I please go see Louise now?"

Again, Ezio hesitated, trying to phrase his answer is the most respectful way possible. Nobility – both the magical and non-magical kind – could be _very_ dangerous if offended, and even though the princess looked and sounded like a reasonable person, being careful was just common sense.

"I cannot deny you entry, _vostra altezza_," he said cautiously, "but I do not think it would be best for Louise. She has had a very trying day, and she was also very anxious about tomorrow's competition. She only went to sleep a short while ago as well."

"...I see," Henrietta said slowly.

Ezio sighed. "If you really want to see her, I can wake her–"

"No, no, that's quite alright," Henrietta said quickly, holding out her hand to stop him in his tracks and smiling wistfully. "I really have no right to barge in on her like this. First I find no time to write to her for her in years, then I try to sneak into her room, and then I endanger her chances for a very important and prestigious examination, all because of my own selfish desire to see her. I have been a rather bad friend, wouldn't you say?"

"And I would say that there is nothing shameful about wanting to see those you care about," Ezio answered, peering at her intently.

"No, I guess not." She studied him for a while. "You really care about Louise, don't you?"

Ezio started, surprised. "And why would you say that, _prego_?"

"Well, I may not look it right now, but I _am_ the princess of an entire kingdom," Henrietta quipped drily, giving him an amused smile. "Normally, any one of my subjects would trip over their own feet to fulfil one of my requests, no matter their station. If only because they expect to be rewarded." She paused for a moment, studying him once more and making him quite uncomfortable. "But you – _you_ are different, aren't you? You had Louise's interest in mind before mine, or before your own, for that matter." Her mouth quirked into a genuine smile. "You were prepared to defy a princess for your mistress – your loyalty is to be admired."

Ezio chuckled. "You give me too much credit. Perhaps I simply wanted to get back to bed with the least fuss."

Henrietta giggled. "Perhaps," the princess agreed, smiling mischievously. Her face suddenly fell as if she remembered something important. "Oh dear, Agnès is going to be angry that I snuck away without telling her again..."

"This Agnès – is she a chambermaid?" Ezio asked curiously.

Henrietta started giggling rampantly, muffling her laughs with her cloak's sleeve. "Oh, that would be a sight to see! No, Agnès is the one leading my Musketeers – the soldiers guarding the royal family," she added quickly when she saw Ezio's confused frown. "Oh, she is going to be furious that I left her behind again, I'm sure of it..."

"And she would be quite right," Ezio said, tapping the pommel of the dagger stuck through his belt and giving the princess a significant look. "Had you been protected, then I would never have been able to put you in danger, _vostra altezza_."

Henrietta grimaced. "Let's not talk about that anymore," she muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life."

"Again, my apologies–"

"I distinctly remember telling you to stop doing that," she ordered sternly, though she was smiling. "I told you that I was to blame, didn't I? You have done nothing wrong."

Ezio smiled, relieved. "Admittedly, it's not every day that you hold a genuine princess at knifepoint," he joked. _Though I have done it before, once or twice_, he neglected to add.

She laughed quietly. "An unusual experience for both of us, I'm sure." She smiled up at him. "Will I see you tomorrow, Monsieur Auditore?"

"If Louise participates tomorrow, certainly."

"I'm glad that Louise has you to take care of her," Henrietta said suddenly. "If her familiar is only half as dedicated as you, I'm sure that she will have no trouble winning tomorrow's competition."

Ezio gave her a deep courtly bow, partly out of genuine respect and partly so that she couldn't see him laughing. "You honour me with your words. Thank you." He straightened up, smiling charmingly. "_Buona notte, altezza_."

Henrietta gave him a small, elegant curtsey and smiled. "Bonne nuit, Monsieur Auditore. May the Founder and His Saints guide you."

"The same to you, _vostra altezza_."

And with a last exchange of smiles, Henrietta quietly walked down the corridor until she disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness of the Academy's hallways. Ezio watched her leave, then silently slipped back into Louise's dormitory, made sure that his charge was still fast sleep – Louise managed to sleep through all that commotion, thank goodness – and finally stretched himself out on his lumpy straw mattress.

It was only as he lied in the calm and quiet darkness of Louise's room that he fully realized that he had been only one slip of a dagger away from killing the last remaining royal heir, decapitating an entire royal dynasty and possibly plunging an entire nation into the chaos of civil war. And all that by pure accident.

Needless to say that it took quite a while until Ezio Auditore da Firenze finally fell into a fitful slumber.

...

There were few occasions in her life that Louise could recall feeling so nervous that she wanted to be sick. One of these had been her first day at the Royal Court, all eyes on her as the youngest daughter of the Vallière family was introduced to the King and Queen. Another had been the first of many fruitless attempts to use magic under her mother's disappointed eye. And the most recent one, of course, had been only three weeks ago, before having to perform the Spring Summoning Ritual.

And now, that familiar feeling of impotent panic and fear had returned so strongly that Louise thought she tasted bile on her tongue. She wanted nothing more than to find a quiet corner in the Academy somewhere and vomit, all in the faint hope that it would make her feel better.

However, standing amongst the chattering crowd of students, commoners, and visiting nobles mingling in the Vestri Court, it was obvious that finding a quiet place would be impossible. It was a longstanding tradition for the Royal dauphin or dauphine to attend the demonstrations of newly minted familiars, and the commoners living in the city and nearby villages surrounding the Academy, never ones to waste an opportunity to brighten up their dreary and rather boring lives, had turned the once overly formal ceremony into a full-blown festival that attracted nobles and commoners from all over Tristain, renowned in the whole country as the Familiar's Fair.

Food would be carted in from nearby farms by the wagonload, garlands hung from gable to gable to criss-cross in cheerful patterns over the city streets, pots of coloured flowers put on windowsills; merchants would set up stands where mugs of beer and flavoured pastries would be sold to the adults and sweets to the children, and commoners and nobles alike would go out, dressed in their best finery, to chat, laugh, and joke in the company of their friends and family. It was a time when commoners and mages could mingle to enjoy life together, social class all but forgotten – even though the latter would then invariably deny it.

Even Louise, who usually despised gatherings of all kinds with a passion, had occasionally found the time to enjoy herself during previous festivals. After all, it was easier to celebrate when strangers filled the Academy's streets, when no one cared whether she was born noble or common. Whether she was a Zero or not.

But today, Louise watched gloomily as a group of local carpenters worked frantically to raise a stage at one end of the Vestri Court, working quickly to hammer together a solid structure that would support today's demonstrations. Madame Chèvreuse strengthened the edifice with a few waves of her wand and a longwinded incantation, much to the watching crowd's interest, and then happily proclaimed it stable enough to support a landing dragon. Like every student with a newly summoned creature, Louise would have to go up there and present her bonded familiar to a panel of judges that included most of her teachers and Henrietta – no, not simply Henrietta, the Princess of Tristain, the Dauphine _herself_ – and hoping that she wouldn't make a complete and utter fool of herself in front of this audience of hundreds, perhaps _thousands_ of students, commoners, and nobles.

Oh, Founder, she was _really_ going to be sick.

"Nervous, Vallière?" a mordant voice called out to her, loud and mocking.

Louise whirled around to see Kirche walk through the crowd towards her, her salamander familiar Flame easily making a way for its mistress through the throngs of people. Admiring looks from the men and envious ones from the women followed her – Kirche was beautiful, exotic, and powerful, her magical familiar as incontrovertible proof, and walked with an easy grace that drew the eye of all she passed, especially considering that she had prettied herself up even more than usual.

The dark-skinned Germanian was everything a noble could _want_ to be – beautiful, charismatic, powerful, and carrying herself with a bearing that would have turned heads at any Royal Court, from the Amber Chamber of the Germanian Emperor to the Hall of Mirrors of the Gallian King.

And she cheerfully _flaunted_ it, right in Louise's face.

Louise's fists clenched at her sides, but she did her best to give her hated rival a blithe smile. "Nervous? _Terribly_ sorry, Zerbst, you must have me confused me with someone else."

"Interesting," Kirche drawled as she drew closer, grinning at her. "Because I could have sworn that you looked rather green around the gills just a moment ago."

"You would have sworn wrong," Louise answered curtly. "I am a Vallière."

"Ah, yes; that famous 'Rule of Steel' of your family," Kirche chirped merrily. "I've always found that those without fear are either suicidal or fools. I wouldn't have believed you to be either, to be honest, but I suppose everything is possible. Now," Kirche said, throwing a look around with a raised eyebrow, "where, exactly, is that incredibly good-looking familiar of yours? I've been trying to corner him for _weeks_, and yet he always seems to evade me."

"He shows more common sense than most boys around here, then."

"Oh, rubbish. Why would he run away from _me_? It's not as if I want to hurt him." Kirche threw her an amused grin. "Quite the opposite, in fact." Her expression suddenly grew thunderous. "You're not hiding that prime example of manliness from the rest of us women, are you?" she said, pointing accusingly with a finger. "How selfish of you, Vallière!"

"I would _assume_," Louise snarled at her, barely containing her anger, "that he is preparing himself for the examination, like all _conscientious_ masters and familiars should!"

In fact, Louise had no idea where Ezio was. Unusually, she had been the one to wake up first this morning, shaking her summons awake. The Italian had grumbled unhappily and complained that he hadn't slept well before simply disappearing to somewhere and leaving her alone without saying another word. Perhaps the seriousness of the Familiar's Fair and his mistress's situation had finally gotten through to him, though Louise couldn't be entirely sure.

Kirche raised an eyebrow. "How utterly boring of him. I wonder what he will think of, though. Admittedly," and here the Germanian took an exaggerated look at the crowd and hubbub surrounding them, "if you were looking for a bigger venue to embarrass yourself and your family, I doubt you could have chosen a better occasion. Her Highness herself is coming, no? Heirs and new regents always like to show off, so there'll be quite a few visitors from the Royal Court, I imagine. Why, perhaps the Queen herself will be here!"

"If you spent more time outside of a different boy's bed every week, you'd know that the Queen won't be here," Louise snapped angrily, gritting her teeth. "She's ill."

Kirche blinked, looking down at Louise with surprise. "Really? What happened to her?"

Louise goggled at the flirty Germanian in disbelief. "Are you actually trying to be funny, or are you really _that_ ignorant?" she demanded incredulously. "The king died two moths ago! It's no wonder that Her Majesty is feeling unwell!"

"But that's – so – romantic!" Kirche squealed, clapping her hands together in delight. "That a woman would be so devoted to her husband that his death takes away her desire to live, making her slowly waste away until she can be together with her beloved one, united in death! Why, that is the pinnacle of romance!"

"I see nothing romantic in a slow, agonizing death by illness," Louise muttered.

"Oh hush, you," Kirche retorted, annoyed at getting ripped out of her fantasy. "You were always as emotional as a doorstop. You wouldn't know romantic if it mugged you in broad daylight."

"That's rich, coming from someone who has slept herself through half the boys' dormitories in her time here!" Louise snapped, outraged.

Kirche grinned and sidled closer, making a rather suggestive hand movement. "Well, courtly love is all well and good, but the... other parts can be fun too. And besides, don't you know the saying? If it doesn't work the first time, get experience!"

"If I want to hear about your bedroom escapades, Zerbst, I'll ask for it," Louise retorted, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, some of us have better things to do."

"Boooring," Kirche sing-songed cheerfully. "Goodness gracious, at this rate we'll never find a husband for you! Well, if we're already talking about love and familiars – and preferably about combining the two into something recreational, healthy, and wholesome – let me ask you a question." Kirche leant closer, a rather mischievous look in her eyes. "Have you jumped that familiar of yours yet?"

"W-_WHAT?_"

"You. Him. The beast with two backs," Kirche listed succinctly, now grinning from ear to ear. "Have you done it?"

Louise got her scrambled thoughts back in order, her face redder than it had ever been before. "How _dare_ you even _suggest_ such a thing!" she shrieked furiously, wanting to do nothing more than to draw her wand and make that infuriating Germanian's head explode. "He's my _familiar_, for Founder's sake! It would be improper beyond belief!"

"So you didn't?" Kirche frowned, sighing and shaking her head, not caring in the least about the quizzical looks their argument was drawing from the people around them. "Disappointing, Vallière, truly disappointing. You had such a fine specimen at your beck and call for over three weeks, and yet you did absolutely _nothing_? Why, he's absolutely wasted on someone like you."

Eyebrows twitching rampantly, Louise forced herself not to scream her frustrations to the heavens – it wouldn't help, no matter how much she wanted to do it. "Some of us have other interests besides bedding the nearest man available," she gritted out through clenched teeth, glaring.

"And I will tell you again and again that you are boring, Vallière," her rival said, smiling flippantly. "Where's your adventurous side? Oh, after I saw him fight Guiche," and here Kirche got a rather dreamy look in her eyes, "I don't think I could have waited another hour! I wonder if he is as dominant in bed as he is on the battlefield..."

"And I think that you have said quite enough for today," Louise said glacially, having finally had enough.

Kirche pouted at her. "Spoilsport. Do you always have to ruin my fun?" Her expression suddenly turned thoughtful. "In all seriousness, though, I do wonder what he will be presenting for the competition. I mean, he _is_ a commoner, isn't he? What can a simple man do that could impress Her Highness?"

Again, that nervous knot in her stomach made itself known, but Louise ruthlessly squashed it. She wouldn't show weakness in front of _her_. "I'm sure he'll think of something," she said curtly.

"Oh, so it'll be a surprise for both of us then?" Kirche smiled at her, a gleam in her eye. "Interesting, how very interesting. Well," the dark-skinned Germanian said jovially, "you look far better than just a few moments ago! We should talk more often; it seems to do wonders for your teint."

Before she could lash out with an angry retort, Louise realized that her fear, that crippling nervous that had gripped her only a few minutes ago, was now reduced to nothing more than a few flickers of unease. Still present, but repressed under anger and frustration.

...had Kirche actually _planned_ for that to happen?

Louise threw the Germanian beside her a suspicious look, but the redhead had turned to look towards the other end of the Vestri Court where the double doors to the Academy's main building stood. "I think Her Highness is coming," she stage-whispered to her shorter rival, grinning.

Indeed, a group of four men had stepped through the open doors, all uniformed in the royal red livrée and each of them holding a long fanfare in their hands. A moment later, the clear sound of the brass instruments rang out across the courtyard, silencing all conversation and capturing everyone's attention. All turned towards them, hushing and waiting expectantly.

As the heralds stepped aside, a troop of finely uniformed soldiers marched through the gates in picture-perfect drill step, four men abreast and five men deep, hefting long muskets with bayonets fixed, pistols in their bandoliers and heavy arming swords at their sides, serious expressions on their faces. At their head marched a woman, burn scars on the side of her face and her hand on the grip of her longsword, glaring at anyone that stood in her way. Wisely, the crowd parted before her as the soldiers marched towards the stage – no one, commoner or noble alike, was stupid enough to defy Agnès, Chevalier de Rouvroy, the feared captain of Her Majesty's Royal Musketeers.

When the guards had cleared a way through the crowd from the double doors to the stage – glaring Musketeers standing a few paces apart on both sides alongside it to enforce it, by bayonet if necessary – a figure strode out into the open, the shadows cast by the Academy's entrance obscuring its features for just a moment. But when she stepped into the sunlight, Louise recognized her instantly.

The first thought that went through Louise's mind when she saw her oldest friend for the first time in years was not quite what she expected. _She hasn't changed at all._

But as the princess stepped out into the courtyard, smiling graciously as her subjects erupted into cheers around her, Louise could see that her friend certainly had changed these last few years: had she once been a small, if pretty child, she had now grown into a tall, stunningly beautiful woman, the grace that befitted her station in every single one of her movements. The tiara on her brow was completely unnecessary – it was obvious who she was by bearing alone.

But still, in some ways Louise realized that her first thought had some truth to it: her smile, that gentle smile that had enchanted the mothers and daughters of the Royal Court when she was a child, those same blue eyes that her father had absolutely adored, and that strange magnetism that had compelled nobles and knights to swear themselves to her after meeting her only once or seeing her from afar.

And so Louise cheered and laughed with abandon along with everyone else. She hadn't changed. She was still Henrietta, her friend that she had known so many years ago.

_Thank goodness. _

When Henrietta finally stepped up onto the stage, smiling and waving merrily all the while, she gracefully walked up to the jurors' table to greet the assembled faculty members. Old Osmond beamed as if his birthday had come early as he shook the princess's hand, Colbert gave her a polite smile as he exchanged a few pleasantries with her, Sister Catherine and Henrietta seemed to hit it off immediately when they were introduced to one another, and the Alchemy lecturer, Professor Rogue, actually seemed to sneer less than usual when Henrietta spoke to him, a miracle all by itself.

Before Henrietta took her seat at the very centre of the jurors' table, she surveyed the cheering crowd with a smile and drew her wand out of her sleeve, waving it once. "Thank you very much," she called out, her voice amplified to ring out clearly across the filled courtyard, silencing the happy cheers and cries of "Vive son altesse!" "Vive le royaume!" "Vive Tristain!" _Silent air manipulation_, Louise realized with amazement and quite a bit of awe. _She's gotten better._

"Thank you all for being here!" Henrietta called out happily, before giving them all a rather mischievous smile. "I know it's an established tradition for my family to make a long-winded speech before the beginning of the demonstrations, but that's not what you're really here for, is it? That said," and she raised her wand, a loud _crack_ echoing around the Vestri Court. "May this year's Familiar's Fair begin!"

Even if Henrietta had wanted to speak for longer after this, she would probably have been unable to as the crowd exploded once more into cheers, even louder and more enthusiastic than before. Louise clapped along with everyone else, smiling rampantly and feeling happier than she had in a long while.

"My, my," an amused voice spoke into her ear. "She's quite popular, isn't she?"

Louise whirled around to see Kirche stand close behind her, surveying the cheering students, commoners and nobles with a rather amused look on her face.

"Isn't it obvious?" the young Tristainian snapped challengingly.

Kirche laughed and tweaked her nose, making the smaller girl squawk in outrage. "Careful, Mademoiselle de la Vallière. Appearances can deceive." Kirche drew herself up, stretching languorously and grinning at her familiar. "A tough crowd to play to, _nicht wahr_, Flame? Should be fun." The Germanian winked at her fuming rival. "May the best familiar win, alright?"

Louise glared at her, holding her nose and glaring indignantly. "He will!"

Kirche smiled approvingly. "Good answer." She suddenly bowed down until her mouth was right next to Louise's ear, whispering so that no one else could hear. "When you're up there in front of everyone, don't look at the crowd and don't look at the judges. Look at Her Highness. No one else matters."

Before Louise could open her mouth to ask what on earth Kirche was talking about, the Germanian had disappeared into the crowd with her familiar in tow, vanishing like a ghost. And then Louise had other things on her mind as the first student was called upon the stage.

...

There were dozens of students with their newly summoned familiars, all of them quite nervous about presenting themselves before their future monarch and such a huge crowd of their peers – and even though the audience were 'mere' commoners, the reputation of their families was at stake as well. So it was unsurprising that many of the students were sweating bullets, their knees buckling, hands shaking, and their familiars skittish thanks to their master's nervousness and the noise made by the large crowd.

The demonstrations of those unfortunate enough usually broke down halfway through, and while they still received polite applause from both jurors and audience, it was clear who the losers were as they slunk off the stage under the sympathetic eye of Henrietta, shamefaced and embarrassed. Other demonstrations, while well-rehearsed and potentially interesting, were nothing more than average and served nothing more than to show the gulf between mediocrity and those students with the most memorable familiars.

Kirche strode confidently onto the stage, accompanied by Flame, her salamander familiar then beginning to spout huge gouts of fire into the sky, the licking flames taking the shape of criss-crossing lines, stars, runes, and letters.

Bosco and Malicorne rumbled portentously on stage, the huge bear dancing a jig before performing a row of clownish sketches with his master that left the children in the crowd (both young and old) laughing uproariously and applauding as the bear imitated his master's clumsy bow of gratitude.

Quiet Reynald walked on stage, the picture of quiet dignity, before loudly calling out for "Romulus!" and waiting until a wolf's howl sounded out across the courtyard, unnerving the visiting peasants until the feral sound became a beautiful song that the crowd listened to in quiet admiration. They granted the white-furred beast respectful passage as it made its way through the people to its master.

Gimli, boisterous as ever, marched on stage to loudly extol his familiar's great beauty and many virtues – at least until a cheeky heckler ("Get on with it!") compelled him to raise his arm, clad in a thick leather glove, and summon his hawk Aesalon with a sharp whistle. The large raptor appeared over the Academy, dived steeply and settled down onto his master's arm with outstretched wings – much to the crowd's approval, as falconers were rare and respected by commoners and nobles alike.

Tabitha stunned everyone by appearing high above in the sky on Sylphid's back and performing a series of death-defying aerial stunts, all before landing onto the stage amidst the cheering crowd, most of whom had never seen a dragon this magnificent before. Tabitha simply jumped off and bowed to Henrietta before burying her nose in another book.

Louise watched all these demonstrations, her nervousness increasing with each and every single once as she frantically tried to imagine how Ezio could possibly come up with to compete with these magical beasts, and drawing blanks.

"Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière!"

And again, just like three weeks ago, she walked out into the open, that familiar fear and nervousness taking a ahold of her, the whispers of the crowd in her ear as her family's name caught everyone's attention and interest. She glanced nervously over her shoulder, not daring to look at her old friend sitting _right there_ in front of her at the jurors' table, a friend who had probably already forgotten her. Oh, she was going to humiliate herself _again_, wasn't she? Sullying her family's good name and reputation another time, the useless youngest daughter of the prestigious family—

Louise spotted Kirche standing in the first row of the multitude, right next to the stage, shaking her head and silently mouthing something to her, and for a moment, Louise heard her rival's voice again.

She immediately calmed down. So what if she made a fool of herself? She had a familiar. No one could deny that, could deny her station, her right to be a noble. People would forget a little embarrassment with a little time. And she had Ezio, and he would still be there for her after the demonstration whether she made a fool of herself or not. The only thing that wouldn't come again was the chance was the chance to find out if Henrietta – her _friend_ – still remembered her.

_That's right. None of that really matters, does it? Only Her Highness does. _

"Hail, Your Highness," she greeted loudly as she bowed towards the jurors' table, holding it, not daring to look up and hoping against all hope that her voice didn't waver. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

For a moment, no one said anything, and Louise could almost _feel_ those blue eyes studying her intently. "Louise Françoise," the princess spoke quietly. "It's been far too long, hasn't it?"

Louise's head snapped up to see Henrietta smile happily at her, none of the accusation, none of the anger, none of the disappointment she had expected to be seen anywhere.

Louise nodded, confused. Wasn't her friend furious with her? She hadn't been able to write for years; Mother had forbidden it… "It has been, yes," she agreed cautiously.

Henrietta blinked quickly, still smiling happily, until she quickly wiped her eyes with her dress's sleeve, smiling. "I have so much to tell you! I couldn't write to you, Father forbade it, but I regretted it every time I thought of you, and–"

"While this is _incredibly_ touching," Rogue interrupted snidely, "we are not here to gossip, but rather to see the ability of Mademoiselle de la Vallière's familiar. If that creature even has any, that is," he added spitefully, glancing out of the corner of his eyes at the Vallière girl.

The tiny mage glared back furiously, using the look she trained on Ezio during their sparring sessions when he was cheerfully taunting her. Louise noted with quiet satisfaction that the greasy-haired man actually flinched, quickly looking away.

"You're right, Professor," Henrietta agreed quickly, though her smile looked slightly strained when she addressed him. "Duty always comes first, doesn't it? One could assume that I would know that by now." She smiled apologetically at Louise. "I'm sorry about this," she said quietly. "We'll just have to catch up later, won't we?"

And smiling giddily, feeling happier than she had in years, Louise nodded and bowed gratefully. "Of course, Your Highness!"

Throwing a small, thankful nod to a cheerfully smiling Old Osmond, whose privacy spell had kept the crowd from overhearing their conversation, Louise quickly turned to face the assembled mass of commoners and students. The impatient fidgeting, curious looks, and expectant expressions didn't bother her anymore. And why should they? Her princess, her _friend_ hadn't forgotten her!

"My familiar," she said loudly, her voice carrying steadily over the crowd, "is rather unusual, even compared to all these fantastic beasts we have seen so far. He's... human, for lack of a better word, but quite interesting nonetheless! Ezio!" she raised her voice even further, hoping he was _somewhere_, listening. "Would you please come out?"

For a moment, there was total silence as absolutely _nothing_ happened.

"Ezio?" Louise repeated uncertainly, louder this time. No smarmily grinning familiar appeared. The onlookers started to look disgruntled and annoyed, muttering amongst themselves and throwing the tiny mage disappointed looks.

This time, however, Louise ignored them all as a very familiar rage took hold within her, one that she hadn't really released in years, building up until she finally and spectacularly blew her top. "_Ezio Auditore da Firenze!_" she roared, and she thought she heard a small gasp of surprise behind her, but ignored it as she shouted as loudly as she could, red-faced and angry. "If you don't come out _RIGHT_ _THIS INSTANT_, I _swear_ I will–"

And then her voice was drowned out by the sound of a thunderous explosion that made her and all the other onlookers jump in fright and then hunker down as the cannonade continued relentlessly, the visitors cowering and covering their ears with grimaces on their faces as the rumbling thunder assaulted their ears. It was as if a royal artillery company had decided to greet the visiting heir with a surprise salute, except that there were no cannons to be seen anywhere.

Because everyone was wincing, hands clapped to their ears, no one noticed the soft sounds of small clay containers impacting amongst the crowd until their broken shells released a thick white smoke that quickly enveloped the whole courtyard. Louise, blind as everyone else, could nevertheless hear the panicked questions and mutterings of the commoners and students, and she wondered what _in Founder's name_ Ezio thought he was playing at—

There was a shrill whistle coming from high above them in the sky, still visible through the wafting fog, followed by a small moment of silence.

And then a red flower bloomed above them, followed by a musket-like sound and crackling sparks falling to the earth. Soon, other whistles and explosions followed, snakes of coloured flames corkscrewing into the clear blue sky only to explode into magnificent stars, rows of choreographed comets trailing billowing white smoke, scores of little firecrackers shooting up into the clouds only to make a multicoloured rain of sparks drift down to earth.

_Fireworks_, Louise realized with awe as she watched the display, mesmerized. _He made fireworks!_

Fireworks were a luxury that only the richest nobles of Halkeginia could afford, and even then displays were few and far between, limited to grand occasions like a royal marriage or the baptism of the dauphin. Producing rockets, firecrackers, and other assorted pyrotechnics was expensive, time-consuming, required skill, and above all _dangerous_, as the crippled fingers of many an aspiring alchemist showed. Most peasants and commoners would never have occasion to witness such an event, and it would have been rare even for the nobles to see one.

So the cheers, laughs, happiness and general amazement of the watching crowd was understandable as children sitting on their fathers' shoulders gleefully tried to grab falling sparks out of the sky, whistles, applause and gasps following each new explosion and change of colour – blue, red, green, yellow, purple, gold, turquoise, white – and delighted laughs and cheers accompanied each new missile streaking into the sky.

After a few minutes, though, the last rocket exploded, the largest fiery flower (blue this time) and loudest boom yet ending the spectacle. Cheers and thunderous applause followed, but Louise's eyes were frantically searching the surrounding rooftops, looking for a familiar silhouette—

There. Up on the highest roof of the Academy's main nave, balancing right at the very edge of its highest gable was a figure cloaked all in white, a large hood concealing their face. Yet Louise could have sworn that he was smirking _right at her_ when she clapped eyes on him.

Louise smiled back. Oh, how could she have _ever_ called him common?

…

Ezio gave a small smirk as he surveyed from high above the cheering masses his little display had caused. While Yusuf had showed him how to make incredibly lethal and otherwise useful tools for his work as an Assassin, the Master Assassin from Konstantiniyye had delighted in showing him more peaceful applications of smoke and gunpowder – coloured flames, rockets, delayed timers… Sofía, Marcello, Flavia, and his neighbours in the Toscana had loved the displays he put up for the New Year's celebrations and various birthdays and other festivities. Putting together a small batch of firecrackers had taken nothing more than a few words to a few of Marteau's friends for the ingredients, a borrowed alchemy table, and a few hours of work. Simple, and quite nostalgic, really.

"_Honestly, _sayun_ Auditore!_" he remembered Yusuf chuckling. "_Who is the one teaching whom, exactly?_"

Ezio had laughed at his friend's exuberant joke, but the katara-wielding Assassin had been far wiser than he would ever know. Even as a teacher, you never stopped learning.

Carefully balancing on his feet to cancel out the wind, the rejuvenated Florentine fixed a sharp eye on the stage in the courtyard below and saw Louise hold out a ahnd to him, smiling quite possibly the brightest smile he'd ever seen on her. She could actually _see_ him up here? She had far better eyes than he thought.

He read her lips easily as she whispered. _Give them a show._

Ezio smirked. She needn't have asked. Assassin or not, shadows of night or light of day, he only truly _lived_ for moments like these, that single moment when you pulled the wool over someone's eyes, tricked them with a spectacle, and then pounced on them like a diving eagle on a fleeing mouse. Oh, it was simply _exhilarating_.

It may have been his old pride whispering to him, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

He stood-up, his white-hooded cloak (deftly stolen from the scullery without Siesta's knowledge) fluttering in the wind behind him. He raised his arms wide as Louise shouted something down below, and he knew that every eye in the courtyard below was on him, their owners watching with bated breath. He grinned.

And then he jumped.

He didn't hear the gasps and screams of shock of surprise as he twisted slightly in mid-air, he knew that there was no cart of straw or flowers below to catch him, he needed to _concentrate_—

A quick tug on a string fluttering from his back pouch, the snapping sound of cloth unfurling and snapping as it filled with air, ropes creaking as they strained to hold his weight in the air—

And then he was flying, really flying over the crowd using Leonardo's parachute, basking in the stunned looks of amazement, the cheers of admiration and applause, and generally gobsmacked expressions of the nobles when they saw a commoner fly without magic.

Oh, how he _loved_ doing this.

He circled above the courtyard for a few more moments (long enough to be nearly deafened by the cheers and applause of the crowd that filled it to near bursting, even up here in the air) before lightly tugging on the ropes and dropping towards the makeshift stage placed against one wall of the Vestri Court. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to crash feet first into the jurors' table but a few well-placed cuts of the hidden blades jettisoned the whole contraption.

Ezio landed on his feet, rolling to dampen his fall and stopping before Louise, stooped on one knee and bowing his head low as he knelt before her. "Hail, Louise de la Vallière," he said loudly and formally, at the same time struggling to keep a straight face and congratulating himself on remembering to wear a hood. _Oh, these theatrics are far more amusing than they should be._ "As you have called me, I have appeared."

He glanced up to see Louise smirk at him, though she looked as if she was trying very hard not to break out into an undignified ear-to-ear grin. "I think I saw your entrance," she said drily, but she gave him an honest, genuine smile as she held out her hand to him. "Thank you, Ezio."

With a small smile of his own, he took her hand and briefly kissed her knuckles – a sign of allegiance that even the lowest of commoners would be able to recognize. "_Non c'è di che_, Louise."

And again the crowd exploded into cheers and applause as he got to his feet, the loudest for any student yet. Louise basked in that admiration, smiling at the attention and respect she'd always craved but never gotten from her peers, looking happier than Ezio had ever seen her.

Ezio chortled quietly to himself, shifting in his predecessor's armour that he'd worn only because it would make him look more impressive. All this was nothing permanent, only smoke and mirrors that would soon fade away, but who would be cold-hearted enough to deny a lonely girl some small measure of happiness? He certainly wasn't.

There were some rumbling sounds in the distance, one after the other, and he pricked his ears, frowning. Those explosions had been soft, quiet, barely audible if one didn't have an Assassin's sharp ears, and they certainly hadn't been any of his.

There was a soft, rumbling impact that could barely be heard over the noise of the crowd, as if stone had crashed against stone. Ezio turned around, quickly scanning his surroundings and trying to block out the brouhaha of the crowd. Whatever it had been, it had definitely _not_ been part of his plan.

Louise saw his expression and nudged him, concerned. "Ezio?" she asked quietly. "What is it?"

"Something's wrong," he muttered to her, not even looking at her as his shoulders tensed. "Something's _very_ wrong. But where—"

There was another sound like a boulder crashing down the side of a mountainside, this time nearly drowning out the cheering masses. Ezio willed his second sight to come alive and swore loudly - the wall of the courtyard closest to the Academy building had cracks running through it, both large and small, and they hadn't been there this morning.

Before he could shout out a warning, the whole wall came crumbling down like a collapsing cliff, crushing those unfortunate enough to be squeezed against it by the crowd. Cheers turned to screams, applause turned to panic as commoners and nobles alike fought to get away.

And then something surged through the breach in the wall, engulfing the nearest Musketeers in liquid stone before they could even try to bring their weapons to bear. Ezio watched with horror as the stone was forced down their throat and noses, suffocating them as they vainly struggled, their bodies going limp a moment later.

And then those tendrils of stone flowed back towards the breached wall as a great mass of the fluid rock surged through it like a wave – which was _impossible_, Ezio tried to desperately convince himself – forming a single greater rolling mass that grew taller and taller until it towered over them and coalesced into something that _looked_ like a human – two arms, two legs, a torso, a misshapen lump of rock for a head – but seemed more like a parody of a human being, a child's drawing of a monster from its nightmares. It took a lumbering step, crushing another part of the wall and sending the students and commoners screaming.

On its shoulders stood a single cloaked figure, a hood hiding her face, but Ezio's sharp eyes could nearly _see_ the smug glee rolling off her as the abomination trudged toward the Academy's main building with earth-shaking steps, wails of terror echoing around her.

"Louise!" Ezio bellowed, grabbing her shoulders and bodily shoving her towards the jurors' table before she could argue. "Stay with the princess, _intesi_? Don't follow me!"

He thought he could hear her shout his name as he bodily leapt past the swearing Musketeers onto the jurors' table and used the surrounding scaffolding to vault onto the surface of the courtyard's wall behind it, quickly finding his grip in cracks and crumbling old masonry and climbing as fast as he could to the very top of the rampart.

As he reached it and clambered to his feet on the walkway, he heard an angry voice yelling at him, a scowling Musketeer holding his musket's bayonet under his nose. "Oi! You can't be up her—"

Ezio had no time for him. With a deft move, he grabbed the musket's muzzle with both hands and yanked as hard as he could. The man stumbled towards him, cursing, only to have Ezio's boot silence him as it slammed into his groin and drove the breath out of him. Before he could say another word, Ezio had taken a solid hold of the musket with both hands and viciously smashed its heavy stock into the Musketeer's jaw, leaving him sprawled insensibly across the rampart.

There was another loud crash of stone hitting stone, and Ezio managed to keep his balance as the whole wall shook. He looked at the Academy and swore – the stone monster had driven first into the building's facade, completely obliterating one of its upper floors. He saw the cloaked woman cheerfully stroll along the arm of its creation to enter the building. He wouldn't get there in time.

It was only then that Ezio realized that the back of his left hand felt as if someone had set it on fire, but he was absolutely sure that it had only felt like this since disarming that bodyguard and... holding his musket?

Before he even realized what he was doing, he had shouldered the heavy weapon and drawn back the crude hammer, squinting along its barrel to see the sauntering figure prepare to jump into the shattered building, _something_ telling him to aim slightly left and high and pulling the trigger.

Even from the distance of a few hundred yards, he could see the splatter of blood that flew through the air as the cloaked woman fell like a ragdoll into the hole its monster had created, disappearing from sight.

Ezio frowned as he dropped the weapon. _That_ was surprising. He'd never liked muskets – long, heavy, slow to reload, unwieldy, and decidedly cumbersome to carry when climbing – and he'd never really practiced using one. So why had he known exactly how to use it, not to mention shoot someone so far away?

The Assassin ignored it for the moment and simply waited, hoping against hope for the abomination to collapse or disappear – he was sure he'd read somewhere that spells lost their power when their caster died...

No such luck – in fact, the creature only seemed to intensify its rampaging. Ezio swore and started to run along the rampart towards where it connected to the Academy's main nave.

_The traditional way it is, then_, he thought grimly as he flexed his hidden blades.

...

Fouquet snarled as she stumbled along the Academy's dusty hidden corridor, blood seeping thickly through the fingers clenching her shoulders.

_He shot me_, she thought disbelievingly as she stopped to examine the deep hole the musket ball had punched through her shoulder. _He actually managed to _shoot_ me!_

Such a feat of marksmanship was _impossible_. The Vestri Court was several hundred yards long, and she had seen him on the other end of it! Shooting a single moving target with nothing more than a crude battlefield musket was something that even the best snipe hunters in Albion wouldn't be able to match, not even by half the distance! And yet the Vallière girl's familiar had done it in a heartbeat!

Fouquet angrily waved her wand, and a small trickle of stone provided by her Blood Golem slithered across the dusty stone floor towards her, flowing up her leg and attaching itself to her shoulder, sealing her wound tightly. Just in time – she'd been losing blood far too quickly for her liking. Of _all_ the places to hit her, she cursed, he absolutely _had_ to hit the shoulder with all its major blood vessels, didn't he?

The Sculptor gingerly moved her arm, the stone flowing around her to ease the movement, and she couldn't help but grimace. It wasn't exactly the pinnacle of battlefield medicine, far from it, but it would have to serve as a stopgap until she got away and found a water mage willing to treat a renegade noble. Still, it did nothing to dull the excruciating pain that threatened to make her black out.

Oh, she was going to _kill_ him.

_Focus_, she sternly told herself as she took a deep breath and continued on her way down the corridor, ignoring the near-crippling pain as best as she could. _He's not important. Don't underestimate him anymore, but don't get sidetracked either. He's _not_ what you're here for._

Soon, she found herself calming down, thinking clearly again. In a way, the familiar had actually helped her – setting off those fireworks had distracted the city's guards long enough for her to kill a fair few of them, and few people would have noticed her planting those firebombs in the city, even less when she set them off just before her grand entrance. Soon, the city would be nothing more than a flickering torch, distracting the mages and guards long enough to make her escape – if they would even bother when they had to protect their 'beloved' princess from a rampaging golem. Fouquet scoffed. The theft itself was ridiculously easy. She could have done this _weeks_ ago if she didn't need her Blood Golem to punch through the outer wards and the princess herself to tie up her pursuers.

_Take the good with the bad_, she thought as she continued on in the darkness, determined and gritting her teeth. She was injured, yes, but her plan was proceeding well. She could still do this.

Soon enough she reached a large wooden door, armoured plates of metal enchanted with powerful spells devised centuries ago making a direct assault nothing more than wasted effort. Fouquet raised her lit wand, narrowing her eyes as she ran her fingers over the old wood and steel... Where was it, damn it?

Ah. There. A small plate of metal in the shape of a cross with equidistant arms, decorated with runes and a small slit in its centre. Fouquet flexed her unencumbered left arm, her father's old blade hissing out of its sheath. He had never told her what this strange weapon was for, exactly, except that it was an old heirloom. When Matilda de Saxe-Gotha had fled Albion after King Charles's betrayal, she had fiddled with it for months, wondering how it was supposed to be used. She would never have thought it to be a key, of all things, but then again, stranger things had happened in the kingdoms of Halkeginia.

With a deft twist of her wrist, she slammed the blade home, a loud series of whirring and clicking sounds announcing that the lock was opening bit by bit. A moment later, the door creaked open slowly, dust falling in small trickles from its old hinges. Fouquet summoned a small light from the tip of her wand and peered inside. Her breath hitched. The Academy's Vault was huge and cavernous, her small light doing little to brighten the darkness, instead throwing shadows onto the walls and into every corner of the room.

But that wasn't what had caught Fouquet's undivided attention, what even made her forget the intense pain in her shoulder. There was more treasure here than she could ever hope to rob in several lifetimes. Racks of bejewelled weapons of many styles and makes, their shafts humming with many barely suppressed enchantments stood side-by-side with hundreds, thousands of leather-bound books, older scrolls and rolled-up parchments, their bookshelves reaching higher than her small torch could carry. Suits of armour that hadn't rusted a single day accompanied rings and amulets whose runes and alchemical arrays were so intricate that Fouquet, no slouch herself as a triangle-class mage, couldn't even begin to understand them.

The noble-turned-thief shook her head and snapped her jaw shut. She didn't have time for this. She was here for one specific object only. As much as it offended her warped sense of morals and professional ethics to leave such beautiful loot behind, she knew that she wouldn't be able to carry it all. If she wanted to escape afterwards, at least.

So the renegade mage searched deeper inside the vault, quite often wistfully eyeing some particular treasure that she was loath to leave locked up in the darkness. She decided then and there that she would return here when the Reconquista finally liberated Tristain – it would be a crime to leave these powerful artefacts here, unused and unappreciated. When she finally found what she looked for at the very end of the vault, however, all other thoughts were driven from her mind as she simply _stared_.

The Staff of Destruction stood upright in a specially built stone plinth, the magical light from Fouquet's wand that was reflected of its surface casting a dim golden sheen into the vault's darkness. She eyed it gleefully. It was exactly how the old texts and her contact had described it: eight to nine feet long, a simple staff with three pairs of metal arms at one end, forming a cross. Runes were inscribed all along its shaft of Elvish make, and the power that emanated from it was nearly palpable in the air as she approached it.

The renegade gingerly touched it and immediately she felt the Staff come to live as power through both old artefact and herself. She knew instinctively that her power as a mage was now greater than it had ever been before, enhanced by this mythical object handed down by the Founder himself.

Fouquet grinned ecstatically. So much _power_. With this, she would finally be able to drive out the House of Tudor from Albion. After all these years, she would _finally_ have her revenge over the ones who had mercilessly slaughtered her family, retainers, and subjects. Oh, how she had been looking forward to this moment!

She shouldered the Staff, slightly surprised at its weight, and turned to leave when her eye fell on a small round object placed next to the now empty plinth. She bent down to examine it and frowned. It was perfectly round, as large as a children's ball, and seemed to be made of the same material as the Staff, fiery veins along its surface glowing brightly at regular intervals.

Those fools were keeping _another_ of the Founder's possessions here? All the good they could have done with it, and yet they kept it locked up behind heavy doors, never to be used. What a disgusting waste!

With a nod to herself and a decisive grip, she stowed the small orb into one of the many pouches on her belt. Even if they would never use it, it would be unwise to leave such a powerful object in the hands of the nobles. Besides, Fouquet and her allies would need every advantage they could get their fingers on. Fouquet grinned as she closed the Vault's heavy doors after herself.

After all, the revolution had just begun.

...

Ezio recognized the strange ironic humour some might have seen in his situation, even though he found it anything but amusing. After just jumping off the Academy's highest roof, here he was, being forced to scale it once more.

_No_, he thought grimly as the building threatened to shake him off once more as tremors ran through it, _not funny at all._

He had quickly given up on the idea of climbing the side of the Academy where the stone monster had decided to make its entrance – apparently, it had taken to cheerfully punch the old edifice at random, leaving house-sized holes in the ancient stonework despite those centuries of layered protective enchantments that Colbert had so proudly told him about when the distracted professor had given him a small guided tour of the Academy.

So Ezio had taken the safer, if decidedly longer route by climbing the building's other side, trying desperately to hold on as the monstrosity merrily laid waste to the old cathedral-sized edifice, nearly losing his grip every second moment or so and dodging bits of falling masonry.

_I reiterate_, he thought, scowling as a razor-sharp broken shingle sailed past his head, barely missing him by a few inches. _Not funny at _all_._

He kept scaling and heaved himself onto a comparatively safer windowsill, throwing a quick look down into the courtyard below. One of the Vestri Court's walls had completely collapsed, the Musketeers trying their best to herd the panicking festival visitors out of the danger zone as chunks of stone of all sizes and glass shards rained down upon them. There were flashes of fire, streams of water flowing around to deflect falling debris, and the earth moved like a sentient being to protect the fleeing commoners and free those trapped by the – apparently, the teachers and more powerful nobles were doing their best to protect everyone. But still, it was easy to see that it wasn't enough – the still forms of men, women and children littered the courtyard, crushed by falling stones or trampled in the stampede. Some of them were wearing the Academy's uniform. And who even _knew_ how many had found themselves under a falling boulder...

Ezio grit his teeth and launched himself up, his fingers finding a grip on a scowling gargoyle that he used as a small springboard to climb even higher, not stopping even for a moment and feeling nothing but murder in his heart. That madwoman had killed innocents. Had killed _children_. She had to be stopped. He would gladly make sure of it.

After an agonizing effort that set his muscles on fire, he finally reached the main nave's highest roof, the whole building shaking under his feet as another punch of the stony fist impacted against it, shaking loose roof tiles and breaking coloured glass. Ezio swiftly ran over to the other side and peered down at the stone monster defacing the Academy in a brutal, roughshod, and apparently completely random manner. Apparently it had little intelligence on its own.

Suddenly it stilled and cocked its deformed sideways in a disturbingly human gesture before slowly moving an open palm towards one of the destroyed floors. Ezio tensed, watching carefully as the cloaked woman from before stepped onto its hand, something long carried over its shoulder.

Something long, golden, and very, very _familiar_.

Ezio stared in disbelief, jaw agape. The Papal Staff. The Papal Staff was _here_, of all places? But that was _impossible_! It had been lost in the catacombs of St. Peter's cathedral decades ago! He had seen it disappear himself! Niccólo had promised him that the Assassins would make sure that it stayed there, out of the hands of man! And this was another _world_, entirely separate from his own!

But then all rational thought left him, the cold calculating fury of a predator replacing it. This woman had killed innocents, had butchered children for _this_? To gain _power_? There was no question in his mind now. She would _die_.

He took a deep breath, centring himself and running the estimates he would need for distance, and stepped back for a small running start. And then he _leapt_ like he had countless times before, hidden blades hissing out as he brought his arms to pierce her stomach and throat, gravity and momentum giving him more weight and power than he would ever have when crossing blades on the ground.

Perhaps he had stepped on a cracked roof tile when he moved. Perhaps it had been a slight shift in the air when he leapt down on her. Perhaps it had been some unknown sorcery that he would never really understand.

Whatever it was, the hooded woman turned around and looked up as he hurtled towards her, blades extended, her eyes widening in utter shock as Ezio crashed down on her, bringing her down onto the golem's scraggly surface with all his speed and weight and driving the hidden blades home.

Instead of the familiar sound of metal tearing flesh, however, he only heard the scrape of metal on stone. The stupefied Assassin watched as the liquid stone bubbled through her torn clothes, the magical earth encasing the woman's body to protect her.

Oh, that was just _not_ _fair_.

"_YOU!_" she shrieked, struggling as she lay trapped under him. "How did you get here?"

Cold black eyes narrowed as he glared at her. Green hair, spectacles, green eyes, and _that_ _voice_... "I know you."

That only made her fight even more against him, her panic increasing, but Ezio held firm, raising his blade to ram it through her eye. "_Requiescat in pa—_"

The earth around her body moved and bubbled in an instant, flowing towards her head, and before Ezio could finish his words, she had drawn herself up and headbutted him with all her might.

Feeling as if his skull had been stomped on by an elephant – did she encase her head in _stone_? – the Assassin staggered back, unable to keep his hold on the woman as she scrabbled to get away. A boot slammed into the side of his head, making his vision blur, and he looked up groggily to see her look down at him in disgust, green eyes full of fury as she got to her feet, shaking as the skin of the golem moved around her feet like splashing water.

"How _dare_ you!" she screeched at him. "For years and years we and our people have been oppressed, and you think a simple _commoner_ is going to stop me _now_, when things are finally about to change? I'll have you burn in hell for this, tyrant's henchman, make sure of it!"

She raised her wand, and Ezio, still half-stunned and reacting more out of instinct than anything else, leapt up and grappled with her, interrupting her spell-casting mid-movement. He slammed an armoured fist into her face, making her stumble back and curse him.

_No more words. She will _die_. _

Easier thought than done, however. Fouquet stepped back on the golem's swaying arm to get room for the wand movements required for her spells, Ezio doing his damnedest to close in and interrupt her, yet still unable to pierce the moving stone that had engulfed her body like a suit of living armour, protecting him from his attacks. They both stumbled around as the golem moved spastically, the gigantic marionette confused by the many cut-off orders its master was sending its way, trampling a few houses under its feet.

Ezio grit his teeth as a violent movement of the golem's arm nearly threw him off – the thief seemed to have found a way to anchor herself to her damned creature's skin. If he had carried a double-handed war hammer with him, the kind that crushed skulls and bones even when the opponent wore plate mail, he might have stood a chance of injuring, perhaps even concussing her through her unnatural stone armour. But he only had blades – more versatile, lighter, easier to conceal, and utterly useless against this unnatural tool of Old Osmond's treacherous secretary. And who would have expected an attack like this on a festival?

The Doge's killer cursed as a tendril of flowing stone slammed into his chest, the impact dulled by Altair's armour. Of all the people here, _he_ should have at least considered the possibility. In his old age, he'd become complacent.

There was an explosion that shook the golem, making it totter back on its stumpy legs, arms waving frantically to keep its balance. Ezio and the woman, now grappling with each other on the monster's shoulder, were violently thrown apart before he managed to get his fingers clamped around her throat, both somehow managing to grab onto the monster's craggy skin and hold on.

Ezio heaved himself back up only to see his enemy prepared and ready for him, Papal Staff in one hand and her wand in the other. The Staff pulsed once with golden light and her wand slashed upward like a sword, the command "Étouffe!" leaving her mouth as a scream.

And then Ezio felt himself unable to move as the part of the golem's skin he stood on flowed upward like an inverted waterfall to grab him around the throat, constricting his windpipe and cleanly lifting him off his feet, choking him.

Fouquet marched towards him, her raised wand trailing circles and a sadistic gleam in her eye, enjoying every moment as the malleable stone slowly made his lungs soundlessly _scream_ for air—

And then another explosion, the largest and loudest this far, tore into the golem, reducing it to nothing more than a few huge chunks of inert stone and loosening the improvised garrotte around his neck. Ezio stumbled _away from her_, grabbing at his own throat and gasping for breath. Moments away from fainting, he never realized he was standing at the very end of the collapsing golem's shoulder.

And then he toppled over the edge, falling freely.

...

Louise wanted to run after Ezio and ask him what_ in Founder's Name he thought he was doing_, leaving her all alone to fend for herself, until she found herself behind a wall of Musketeers barring the crowd's way from stampeding the princess. Her familiar had been right again – she really _was_ safer with Henrietta, after all.

Agnès had jumped over the table in front of Henrietta, drawing her sword even though it would be as useful as a toothpick against the rampaging golem. "Fouquet the Sculptor!" she shouted, catching the assembled teachers' attention immediately. "Musketeers! Protect Her Highness!"

The princess herself had leapt to her feet as pandemonium broke out in the Vestri Court, students and commoners fighting to get away from the gargantuan monster of living stone as it started destroying the Academy, the teachers shouting and drawing their wands, the screams of the injured filling the air as chunks of falling masonry found their first victims.

Henrietta frowned as she helped Louise to her fee without even looking at her. "Fouquet's not here to kill me," she muttered to herself as she watched the scene unfold.

Louise blinked, confused. "Pardon?"

"Agnès!" Henrietta shouted, her Musketeer Captain looking quizzically over her shoulder at her sovereign. "Tell your men to open the gates and get the people outside! Now!"

"Your Highness, I can't! We won't have enough soldiers to protect you!"

Henrietta glared at her bodyguard, her blue eyes chilling. "If they were trying to kill me, they would have done so already instead of using a clumsy golem to attack the Academy itself! Open those gates _now_, Agnès!"

The scarred woman swore in a rather unladylike manner before beginning to bellow orders at her subordinate, the armed men wading into the stampede to throw open the gates and perhaps restore some order, as hopeless as it might have seemed. You didn't become a Musketeer by simply giving up at the first obstacle.

Henrietta drew her wand, smiling faintly at Louise. "Et bien," she said casually as she began waving her wand in a complicated series of movements, "this isn't exactly how I wanted our reunion to go, to be honest, but I guess Fouquet had other plans. Are you injured?"

"N-no, milady, I'm fine," Louise got out, quaking with fear as she saw the golem punching holes into the Academy and dropping debris into the courtyard. She wanted to scream when she saw a small commoner family nearly crushed by a house-sized piece of masonry, only for it be reduced to a thousand harmless pieces away by a stream of superheated flame. She saw Professor Colbert step forward, his face furious and the tip of his staff smoking.

"Shield spells if you can manage them, Mesdames et Messieurs!" he barked out, his commanding voice ringing out loudly across the whole courtyard. "Protect the visitors! Ignore Fouquet, a Blood Golem is nearly indestructible! Earth mages, raise shields and get the injured out of here! Water mages, get ready to give first aid! Air and fire mages, shoot the larger debris if you can; deflect them if you can't! Let's _go_!"

And then he was gone, experienced strikes of his staff gaining him easy passage amongst the stampede. A moment later, another boulder was reduced to nothing more than molten slag when a snake of fire snatched it right out of the air.

Henrietta smiled brightly, finishing her own wand movement, a streamer of water as long as fifty to sixty feet forming from the tip of her wand. "You heard him, ladies and gentlemen!" she called out. "Protect the people!"

Soon, Louise watched with awe as Madame Chèvreuse erected roofs of solid stone to protect cowering commoners and hurled large chunks of stone into the sky to reduce falling debris into nothing more than falling grit. Rogue had drawn himself up, jabbing his wand like a sword and muttering incredibly complicated incantations under his breath, his air spells diverting falling debris from fleeing students and commoners, invisible blades of air cleanly slicing a house-sized balustrade into smaller pieces with a mere flick of his wand. She thought she saw Professor Colbert a few times in the crowd as he summoned burst after burst of flame, melting the smaller pieces of falling debris into cinders, the flaming snake at his command grabbing larger hunks of masonry in its jaws and simply _melting_ them until nothing was left.

Henrietta had apparently used the humidity in the air to create several tentacle-like streamers of water, the talented magician using them to bat away the lethal wreckage with ease as Sister Catherine ran to and fro, frantically attending to the most grievous injuries. Old Osmond had gotten up from his seat, waving his wand in a complicated movement and simply stopping part of the falling rubble in mid-air, compressing it into minuscule cubes with a single wand movement and letting it safely drop.

The less talented teachers and even some of the more powerful students joined in, waving wands and muttering incantations of varying complexity, the most level-headed students and commoners helping the Musketeers with the evacuation and carrying out the wounded and those that couldn't leave by themselves ("Children and elderly, lads! Get 'em out of here!").

And yet it wasn't enough, not even nearly enough. Thanks to her training with Ezio ("_Always be aware of your surroundings, Louise_,"), she saw and heard it all: the screams of the dying, wailing commoners as they tried vainly to lift far too heavy boulders that had crushed one of their loved ones, others writhing in pools of their own blood, missing limbs or deeply lacerated by shards of falling glass, the nearly indestructible Blood Golem continuing to deface the Academy and hurling broken stone onto the panicking crowd below. From the surrounding city, trails of smoke rose into the sky – Fouquet had apparently set fire to a few houses to distract the rescue efforts. Clever and cold-blooded, as expected of him.

Louise wanted to be sick as she watched the carnage unfold. Never before had she felt so utterly _useless_. She couldn't summon shields, she couldn't deflect a measly pebble, she couldn't do _anything_ to help, she couldn't save _anyone_, she was again a _ZERO_!

"You have an interesting familiar," Henrietta addressed her, sweat on her forehead as she finished another incantation and batted away a cannonball-sized missile out of the sky, badly startling Louise as it sailed part them to crash into one of the Vestri Court's walls.

"Yes, I have," Louise got out as she watched someone run past them towards one of the gates, bleeding profusely from the scalp and screaming incoherently. "Thank you for noticing," she added lamely.

"He's _very_ interesting, I mean," the princess continued as if they were at a dinner party instead of dodging death with every piece of falling masonry, giving her a brief smile before concentrating once more on her spells. "You summoned him in the Springtime Summoning Ritual, correct? And yet he's a commoner? Ah, no matter. Where did he run off to, anyway?"

"I don't know, Your Highness," Louise said worriedly, trying to get a better look around. Ezio wouldn't be in the crowd, it was teeming with people; he would probably prefer the heights; but why had he suddenly run off like tha—

"_Injustice is one of my pet peeves, child. People tend to die when I'm annoyed."_

She frantically looked up at the golem and gasped when she saw a white-cloaked figure jumping from the Academy's roof, sailing through the air to land on the gigantic puppet's shoulder. Moments later she saw two figures struggling furiously with one another on the stumbling creature, metal flashing in the sun, earth flowing to block it.

"Oh, God and His saints," the girl whispered, watching with growing horror as her familiar was nearly thrown off the rampaging and twisting golem, only to launch himself again at Fouquet when he regained his footing, blades drawn. "Don't do this, Ezio, _please_."

"You see him?" the princess asked eagerly.

"He's fighting Fouquet!"

Henrietta looked at her, eyes widening in shock. "But he's a commoner! He's going to get himself killed!"

_Don't say that, _please_ don't say that._

Louise jumped onto the forgotten jurors' table to get more space, drawing her wand and realizing that she could do absolutely _nothing_ with it to help Ezio. She wanted to scream. What kind of master was she if she couldn't even protect her familiar at a time like this?

Wait. Control. Magic was all about control. Ezio had shown her that she had control. He'd shown her that she really _was_ a mage, not a failure. He'd _proved_ it to her, hadn't he?

She desperately called for that elusive power inside of her, forcing it to bend to her will. When she thought she had a half-decent grasp of it, she pointed her wand at the golem and desperately yelled out her incantation. "Explosion!"

The monstrous humanoid stumbled back as half of its arm was simply vaporized, but both Ezio and Fouquet held on doggedly. Fouquet quickly got the upper hand as Ezio lost his balance, the thief's wand moving like a whip to encase to encase her familiar in stone, suspending him in the air and choking the life out of him.

_Please don't die, Ezio, _please_—_

She screamed out her spell once more in fear, more power than she ever thought was even possible flowing out her arm and out the tip of her wand. The torso of the immense golem was torn apart by a gigantic ball of flame, the shockwave that followed it shaking Fouquet and freeing her familiar.

And Louise was forced to watch with absolute horror as Ezio simply fell from the golem's shoulder, dropping out of sight beyond the courtyard's walls.

...

I love the smell of cliffhangers in the morning.

Right, now that we have that out of the way, ladies and gentlemen time for the obligatory explanation why this update is about a month late. I actually have a very valid one, at least in my opinion.

Voilà: my computer broke down. Literally died on me from one moment to the next when I turned it on. No prior warning, nothing, nada. Just beep, dead. And all my stories, all the ones that I had poured all of my loving care into, my blood, sweat, and tears, were gone just like that. This included chapter six of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_, Chapter Ten of _Miserly Old Man, Trickster Fox_ (my _Naruto_ story), the four chapters I had already written for _The Oncoming Storm_ (My _Mahou Sensei Negima!_ story), and all my notes and sketches for the stories I had buzzing around in my head, and there were quite a few of those. All in all, I must have lost about sixty to eighty pages of work that was more or less ready for publishing and only needed minor editing, and all it took was the push of one button and a computer that seemed determined to troll me to destroy it all.

I think you can imagine my stunned disbelief while I stared at my blank computer screen, followed by probably the greatest bout of incoherent rage I've had in years. 'Flipping the table' doesn't even begin to describe what I wanted to do. I settled for simply kicking the floor (I was in a friend's house, and furniture is expensive) and walking off my stress in the city until I could actually talk civilly to someone again. _God_, I was pissed off.

But! And this is an important but. I have a tendency to edit a chapter three or four times when finishing a scene. You'd be surprised how much of that gets stuck in your head. This allowed me to more or less reconstruct the lost work, and I thank my lucky stars and guardian angel (if I have one, that is) that I seem to have been blessed with an extraordinary memory for language. Or maybe I'm just a stupid bighead. I guess we'll never know.

However, the chapter has taken some hits, and some parts are inferior to the original – Louise's and Kirche's conversation, for example, flowed better in the original version. By the way, I swear that _Kirche_ wrote that scene, not me – it wasn't planned to be that long when I started writing it, and decidedly less suggestive. She's the one responsible for the 'beast with two backs' comment, I swear! Don't blame me!

Ahem. Well, I wrote this chapter back down by hand (no computer, see?) while on holiday (in-between finally relaxing a bit after exams), coming in at about twenty or so hand-written pages, and then spent the last three days at home typing it up and editing, which was about twenty-seven typed pages. And here it is, all fresh and shiny. I hope you liked reading it.

Right. My computer still has warranty, so I hope I'm getting it repaired or a replacement soon. Life is generally good, even if it can occasionally kick you in the nuts. Well, I guess I'll have to live with that like everyone else.

Anyway! I want to thank a few people, if you'll allow me.

First off, a big hand to _**Shadenight123**_, who was one of my first reviewers, always provides excellent criticism, and – more importantly – has provided me with incredibly awesome translations for Italian phrases that I'm too stupid to know. Mille grazie, maestro!

A big thank you to _**The Q Continuum**_,_** Sigma-del-Prisium**_ and _**Mutant Rancor**_ for your incredibly detailed reviews and the enlightening conversations we had on various random subjects afterwards. There's more to this website than just publishing stories, and you guys proved it to a complete newbie like me. Thank you very much.

Oh yeah, and _**The Q Continuum**_ and I had a lot of fun by writing an 'Author's Creed' for us writers in the fanfiction community. Well, he wrote the basics, I adapted it a bit to make it flow better. All the melodrama in this is mine, not Q's. Hope you like it!

...

_There are many stories that are nothing more than... pastiches, written by unimaginative copycats and lazy writers, repeating word for word events in other stories and wasting the time of the one reading it. _

_And then there are many stories that are written by shallow and greedy men pandering to their audience, not daring to break out of the cage they have built for themselves, to surprise them, to create something new. _

_And then there are those who blindly follow what is known as the 'canon', not daring to break out of the mould that the original Creators gave us. Yet if they gave us such great gifts of imagination and the ability to exercise our free will, is it not a travesty for us to cling to stringent and arbitrary conventions, to write stories that make no effort to create something new, something inventive, something _different_?_

_And that is why, Author, realize the truth of these words. _

_Where other men blindly follow others, fearful of creating something entirely their own, remember: __**Nothing is true.**_

_Where other men are limited by the fear of their audience's backlash, by mainstream demand, terrified of breaking the mould and example set by society and their peers, remember: __**Everything is permitted. **_

_To write what is right, and right what is wrong.  
We work in the dark to serve the light.  
We are Authors. _

_**Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. **_

_Rise, Author. Join the ranks of your countless brethren, and go on to enchant your readers, horrify them, make them laugh and cry and fear and _feel_. _

_Then you will surely have changed the world for the better._

...

I should think of adapting that a bit. Hm. What do you think, ladies and gentlemen?

I have a few other specific questions for you, if you don't mind answering them in your comments. Of course, I will welcome anything else you wish to tell me as well!

What did you think of the way I wrote Henrietta and her interaction with Ezio?

Did you like the descriptions of the Familiar's Fair?

What did you think Of Louise's and Kirche's conversation?

What did you think of the scene from Fouquet's POV?

How did the fight scenes between Ezio and Fouquet flow, in your opinion?

Anything else you think is worthy of mention, please, tell me!

Well, I will be eagerly awaiting your critique and criticism. I will say again and again that all opinions are welcome!

My next update for this story is still hanging up in the air. It will definitely come at some point, but it still needs to be written, edited, and all the other hullaballoo (I _love_ that word) associated with writing. I won't give you a specific date (because I am apparently awful at keeping deadlines), but the next chapter is in the works, and will probably be out in a month (let's just hope I didn't jinx myself there). If my style of writing amuses you, go take a look at my other stories; I think you'll get a few hours of amusement out of them.

It was an absolute pleasure to have you back here again. And if you actually read all of my sleep-deprived rambling above, I congratulate you. And thank you very, _very_ much for having read this story of mine. Your comments brighten up my world. Thank you.

...

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009),_Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (May 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	7. Chapter VII – Picking Up The Pieces

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

...

Good day or good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the seventh chapter of _On The Wings Of An Eagle!_

If you're surprised that this chapter came out (relatively) on time, you're not the only one – I am very much confused on the matter as well. This chapter wrote itself pretty easily, for some reason, and it's also the longest so far.

There's lots of stuff happening in this one. I would recommend re-reading the ending part of Chapter Six, though if you have a better memory than mine, ignore that and move straight on.

Some of you told me that you would appreciate translations for the foreign phrases I use in my writing. I was honestly surprised, because I didn't think it would bother people that much, but I included translation at the end of this chapter, in the chronological order of their appearance in this chapter. They're highlighted, so you can't miss them.

If any of you are wondering _why_ I'm including bits and pieces from foreign languages in the story, there's several reasons. Ezio using Italian to sprinkle his dialogue is something I took from the _Assassin's Creed_ games. Also, it's his native language, and I thought it would add authenticity to his character if he did it here.

Tristain is something of a Belgium/Netherlands analogue in the _Zero no Tsukaima_ universe. Considering that I don't speak a lick of Dutch, I decided to use French so that I wouldn't embarrass myself. It's to add authenticity, and to make the world of ZnT seem more than just an amorphous mass of countries that butt heads for no reason. Language is an important part of culture, after all. And if Kirche spoke anything other than German, I would have to bang my head against the wall. Honestly, her home country's name is _Germania_ in the ZnT canon. I'm not going to have her use Mandarin.

So yeah. My small reason for including foreign languages in this story. These Author's Notes are getting long and tedious, so let's just get the ball rolling, shall we?

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and if you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

…

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter VII – Picking Up The Pieces**

…

Ezio blinked groggily, his vision blurred and dark. He thought he could see a faint blue light, far away. If only he could reach out for it...

_"Ser Ezio! Please, talk to me! Say something!"_

There was a loud voice calling out to him... in French? Ezio groaned, despairing. French was already difficult to understand when he was awake, but now he had to speak it in his dreams too? There'd been a stone monster in this one...

"Oh, thank the Saints! You're alive!"

Something heavy was lifted off him with a grating sound – a wooden beam? Had he fallen again? But where did the beam come from?

Wait. Ezio blinked rapidly. Fall. Stone monster. That hadn't been a dream.

And as soon as soon as he realized that, Ezio felt his body light up with pain as it protested, cracked bones, bruises and cuts demanding their toll. He shook his head to clear it, swearing profusely, and took a look around him. He was lying in a destroyed living room, surrounded by loose beams, masonry, shattered roof tiles, and broken furniture. He looked up to see that he'd apparently crashed through the house's roof and smashed right through three floors, somehow having survived the incredibly high fall. The blue sky was visible through the hole he'd punched through on his way down.

He swore again, pushing away the hands that tried to keep him down as he stumbled to his feet. "Don't move, Ser Ezio! You're injured!"

Ezio ignored him in favour of venting his frustrations by ranting. It alleviated the pain. Usually, at least. "_Figlio di puttana... Stupidi mostri di pietra e irritanti nobili e tetti di paglia... Come diamine sono riuscito a soppravvivere a tutto questo!?_"

"Ser Ezio!" Someone grabbed him by the shoulders, and Guiche's blond head swam into focus, looking concerned and slightly panicked. "Please stop! You just fell two hundred feet; you're only going to make it worse!"

The student was doing his best to steady him, wand in hand. Two of his Valkyries stood in the room – apparently they'd dug through the wreckage to get him out. It was then that Ezio realized that the usually immaculate blond fop was covered in grime, dirt, and dust from falling masonry and soot, and he immediately remembered _who_, exactly, had caused him to fall this far down, rage coursing through him.

He gritted his teeth. "Fouquet?"

"Escaped! Ser Ezio, _please_ don't move—"

Ezio curtly interrupted his pleading. "Is anyone following her?"

Guiche looked at him, looking as if Ezio had suddenly grown a second head. "_Her_? Ser Ezio, I think y—"

He grabbed him by the front of his dirtied uniform, snarling. "Gramont! Is _anyone_ _following her?!_"

"The city's ablaze, Ser Ezio!" the panicking noble babbled. "The nobles and guards have their hands full getting it under control!"

Ezio let go of him and staggered back, swearing. She'd planned her little coup well – with the princess here and the city burning, everyone would be more concerned with them than pursuing a simple thief. Anger flowed through Ezio as he remembered the corpses littering the courtyard, cold fury giving him strength.

She would _die_.

"Which way did she go, Gramont?"

"Ser Ezio, you nee—"

Ezio lifted him up by his collar and shook him, finally losing his patience. "Listen, you stupid boy, someone needs to go after her, and it's obviously not going to be you! Which way did she go, _bastardo?!_"

"North-east, into the woods," Guiche said promptly when he saw the murderous look in Ezio's eyes. "It was only a few minutes ago!"

"If she's on foot, I can still catch up to her," Ezio muttered, his eyes clearing as he set Guiche down. "_Bene!_ Go help the others, Gramont, those puppets of yours might be useful! Tell Louise not to worry about me! I'll be back soon!"

And with that, he disappeared through the door, cursing in the vilest Italian he could think of. Guiche ran after him, pleading with him to stop, only to see him disappear as he climbed the roof on the house opposite.

Guiche swore and kicked the door frame. _How can a man be so nimble after falling two hundred feet!? He's going to get killed himself if he goes after Fouquet!_

"Milord?" an uncertain voice addressed him, and the student whirled around to see a man cautiously step closer towards him, a woman that led two small children by the hand and two older boys trying to hide behind him. The family of the house Ser Ezio had landed in, by all appearances. They all looked incredibly frightened. "What shall we do, milord?"

Guiche looked outside. The street was crowded with lines of fleeing commoners trying to get out of the city, stretcher bearers carrying the moaning wounded, long bucket chains forming back and forth, and nobles running to and fro to help out where they could. Shouts, screams, and bellowed orders filled the air, thick black smoke rising from all directions above the roofs of Academy City. He wanted nothing more than to run away and hide, coward that he was.

But Ser Ezio had left him a mission.

He turned around. "Get your family beyond the city walls," he ordered curtly, the next word out of his mouth tasting like ash. "We can't protect you."

"Milord, I have friends here—" the man began.

"Then save your family first, and come back later to help if you want!" Guiche snapped, waving his rose wand at them and seeing the family flinch back. "Go, for Founder's sake! That's an order!"

The man bowed and mumbled something – perhaps gratitude, perhaps cursing him – but Guiche ignored him as they quickly moved down the street, instead closing his eyes and concentrating on that familiar feeling of power inside of him.

A long incantation and three slashes of his rose wand later, he opened his eyes, surrounded by two dozen of his Valkyries. Wand moving like a conductor's baton, the troop of metal puppets followed him in a quick march as he led them towards one of the larger columns of smoke he could see in the distance. Perhaps they could save someone from a burning building, or tear down houses to stop the fire from growing, or carry out the injured, or do _something_!

All around Guiche, Academy City burned as its people, common and noble, fought together to save their home.

…

Ezio leapt from roof to roof, running towards the north-eastern part of the city. Fouquet had apparently foregone subtlety when she prepared her heist – the whole district here was in flames, many smaller fires combining into large conflagrations and filling the sky with black smoke, obscuring his view of the city and the land beyond.

He frowned. It was utterly ruthless, perhaps, burning down everything and everyone that could chase after you, but at the same time it was a viable tactic. Ezio had done the same when breaking out of the blockaded harbor of Constantinople. Hundreds of sailors of the Sultan's navy had died, burned alive as the Greek Fire consumed their ships. His victims, however, hadn't been innocent citizens. They had been soldiers doing their duty, well prepared to die for their sovereign.

_And what about that city by the Adriatic?_ a dark voice whispered in the back of his head. _Those thousands you poisoned when you blew up that powder magazine, men, women and children choking on the dust cloud as they fought to escape the collapsing caves? Was that so different from Fouquet?_

Ezio didn't answer. Those images had haunted him for years afterwards, and the excuse 'It was an accident' hardly pacified him.

He stopped on a roof, the fires around him glowing dim as the world grew dark. He focused on an image of Fouquet in his mind, concentrating.

He saw a blue silhouette of a cloaked woman move through the streets below at an incredibly rapid pace, faster than any human could run, disappearing into the flaming inferno she had turned this part of the city into.

Ezio leapt from the roof onto a lower building on the other side of the street, dampening his fall with a roll and grunting in pain. It was a wonder that he'd actually _survived_ that fall from Fouquet's creature. He certainly wouldn't complain about a cracked rib or a few bruises. Thank goodness for this armour.

He picked up the pace, leaping from roof to roof and façade to façade with practiced ease, moving quickly to avoid getting roasted by the winds of superheated air that rose from the burning buildings and taking care not to miss a hold in the dark smoke that rose from the burning wreckage. Some of the roofs collapsed after he stepped on them, and he could feel the burning hot clay of the shingles even through his boots. No natural fire burned through weathered wood this quickly – this was definitely a mage's trick, or at least an incredibly fast-burning compound that he didn't know about.

_Fouquet doesn't muck about_, Ezio thought grimly as he moved over the roofs of the burning district, trying to roughly estimate through the smoke where his quarry would have gone. _She never hesitated when trying to kill me, either. I have to be careful. _

Soon, he reached the outer walls of the city surrounding the Academy, leaping down onto the cobbled street. He cautiously approached the wall and saw that something had punched right through the ten yards of enchanted stone, leaving a large hole at street level. Ezio smelt a strong, metallic scent and glanced around – corpses were scattered around the makeshift entrance, various weapons in hand and spikes of rock embedded in their skulls or impaling their chests, all with contorted expressions of horror on their dead faces. A guard patrol, unlucky enough to catch Fouquet in the act.

Ezio smirked humourlessly. Usually, he would have been the one to leave the guards to die in droves, drowning in their own blood. And here he was, hunting someone who reminded him very much of himself.

He saw the blue silhouette move as his senses retold the past before his very eyes, her wand snapping out in various directions, her movements coinciding with the guards' efficiently brutal deaths, and then finally simply tearing apart the city wall, disappearing through it.

Ezio frowned as he examined the hole, running a hand along the broken wall. He had read that the Academy's defensive structures had been imbued with many spells over the centuries, all designed to strengthen them against all kinds of assaults, both mundane and magical. So how had Fouquet gotten through them this easily? Had she suddenly found a way to increase her power?

_Merda, this is just getting better and better by the minute_, he thought. The Assassin stepped through the wall and observed the blue silhouette move quickly towards the woods. He followed it before all the traces of her passage would disappear.

As soon as he reached the forest, he took to the trees, leaping from branch to branch, vaulting and climbing with ease as he used his sharp eyes to follow a path of broken twigs, snapped-off branches and disturbed earth – apparently, Fouquet had foregone subtlety for speed now that she thought herself safe from her pursuers. A mistake she would soon regret.

Ezio had never been much of a woodsman. He'd been born in a city teeming with people, where the night was as clear as the day, where the revelers in the darkness were just as alive as the people wandering about in sunlight. However, even though he'd never liked the wilderness, he had always felt secure in it.

_These_ woods were different. In this dark forest of Halkeginia, the shadows were all-encompassing due to the thick foliage, the trees higher and their trunks thicker than any other forest Ezio had ever seen before, utterly empty of buildings and people. There were no roads, no beaten paths, nothing to help him navigate except Fouquet's trail.

He knew instinctively that these woods were dangerous in a way the city never was and never could be. This was nature's realm, not man's, and it treated intruders harshly. Wild animals, slippery mountainsides, vast expanses of trees than an inexperienced traveller could easily get lost in, poisonous plants and nestles by the hundreds, and a complete _silence_ that grated the nerves of any valiant man.

When Louise and Ezio had practiced her magic, they hadn't ventured far into the deep forests surrounding the academy, keeping well in sight of the Academy's walls. Louise had told him that they shouldn't go any further. She'd seemed afraid, terrified even – and when he'd gently mocked her for it, she had shuddered and told him stories of malicious imps, kobolds, strange plants that seemed sentient when men clapped eyes on them, magical loci that entranced men, refusing to let them leave or turning their minds to madness, and the dreaded tribes of wild orcs that attacked travellers to cannibalize them.

There were even stories of _elves_ and _dragons_ living in hiding in those vast forests (Louise had spoken these words with quiet fear and reverence), far away from the eyes of men where they wouldn't be disturbed. Rumours of entire merchant caravans disappearing in the dark woods were common, and few dared to travel through them without an experienced woodsman, hunter, or talented noble to lead and protect them, preferring to keep instead to the cultivated plains that humanity had carved out for itself.

It sounded very much like a collection of old wives' tales, and Ezio had laughed in her face at her superstitions, much to her annoyance. When they had started practicing, he had quickly pushed her stories out of his mind.

But now that the Assassin was actually pursuing Fouquet through these woods, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the feeling that the forest was _alive_, somehow, and watching him. Every single one of his senses, normal and otherwise, seemed to pick up on something that they nevertheless couldn't explain, that just felt utterly _wrong_, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and flee, to return to those streets and buildings he knew so well.

Ezio ruthlessly crushed that feeling of unease, vaulting from branch to branch at a quick pace through the foliage as he followed Fouquet's trail. An Assassin bowed to no one, least of all their fear. He would hunt Fouquet down, kill her, and return the way he came.

And no one would stop him, strange hocus-pocus and magic be _damned_.

...

Louise watched with absolute horror as Ezio simply fell from the golem's shoulder, dropping out of sight beyond the courtyard's walls. For a moment, she simply stood there, frozen, as she slowly understood what had just happened.

And then she screamed and ran. "_EZIO!_"

She thought she heard Henrietta shout at her to stop, but she couldn't be sure. Her legs pumped as she ran faster than she had ever had before, hoping, praying, _begging_ that he wasn't dead, that he _wasn't really dead_—

And then someone tackled her from behind, driving her to the ground and the breath out of her lungs. "Don't move, you stupid girl!" someone snarled into her ear. "You'll only get killed!"

"Wha—"

It was only when Louise looked up that she realized that the Blood Golem was collapsing piece by piece, the destroyed arm falling to the ground with a resounding crash, the other arm following it a moment later. What was left of the torso crumbled as the monster toppled sideways, crashing down onto the Vestri Court like a mountainslide. Wide-eyed, she saw the boulder that had once been its head topple off its lifeless shoulders and fall down right towards _her_.

There was a rushing sound as she saw water _rush_ over her head, as if a stream had suddenly decided to defy gravity and flow up into the air, intercepting the falling house-sized boulder and pulverizing it, the highly pressurized water cutting sharper than any knife ever would. The one who had tackled her pressed her close, protecting her as pebbles rained down around her. For a minute, Louise could hear the roar of conjured flames, sliding and scraping sounds of moving earth and the pressure waves of displaced air as the mages destroyed as much as the falling wreckage as they could. A moment later, the deluge of stone stopped and the sounds of magic died away.

The woman who had thrown got up, swearing profusely before addressing her. "Damn it, child! What _possessed_ you to run away like that?"

"Louise, Agnès!" Henrietta called out to them as she ran over, panic written all over face. "Are you all right?"

"My uniform's torn, but we're fine. No thanks to this foolish little girl," the Musketeer grumbled, glaring down at her. "What on _earth_ did you do to destroy Fouquet's golem?"

Louise couldn't bring herself to answer that question, her panicked mind on other things. "My familiar just fell after fighting Fouquet! I need to find him!"

"You can forget about going anywhere," Agnès snapped as she pointed towards the gates to the Vestri Court, the wide doors jammed with commoners and students fighting to get out of the city. All around them, they could see black smoke rise into the sky. "The streets will be clogged with people, and from what I can see, half the damn city's on fire! How the hell do you plan on finding a corpse in this chaos!?"

"He's not dead," Louise insisted stubbornly, glaring right back at the uniformed woman. "I need to find him! He's my familiar!"

Henrietta looked at them both and nodded. "Right. Agnès, help Louise find her familiar."

"What!?" Agnès blurted out, looking absolutely furious. "You can't be serious! You need to be protected!"

"Agnès, stop arguing with me!" Henrietta shouted, making both soldier and student jump at her sudden anger. Her eyes softened when she saw her bodyguard's expression. "I'm sorry, Agnès, but _please_ help Louise find Monsieur Auditore. Please."

"Your Highness—"

"I'll stay right here with Old Osmond, Professor Colbert and the other teachers," Henrietta bargained, her eyes pleading. "Won't they be enough to protect me in case something happens?"

"Fat lot of good they did against Fouquet," the Musketeer muttered before sighing reluctantly. "As you command, Your Highness. You, girl!" she snapped at Louise, turning around and starting to run towards the gates of the courtyard. "Follow me!"

"Go," Henrietta told Louise. "Find him. We'll see each other later, alright?"

Louise nodded thankfully and ran after Agnès. The Musketeer had already drawn her longsword and bellowed "Make way, in the name of the Queen!" when she reached the gates. At the sight of drawn steel, the Musketeer uniform and the loud, commanding voice, people scattered left and right as she pushed her way through the crowd, Louise close behind her. "Which way, girl?" Agnès growled.

Louise thought quickly, trying to remember some of the maps she had seen of Academy City. "The north-eastern side, I think."

"You _think_!? Well, aren't you children _incredibly_ useful. Right, this way!"

They soon managed to get through, entering the winding streets of the old city. It was total chaos. When Agnès had said that half the city was on fire, she had made what turned out to be at best an optimistic guess. Guards were running around, organizing firefighter crews and bucket chains; stretcher bearers bellowed at others to "Make way!" as they carried out those wounded by debris, burns, and those who had inhaled the noxious smoke. People did their best to carry out their most valuable possessions before the fire consumed it if they could; if they couldn't, they just tried to get themselves and their families out of this infernal hellhole.

However, as Agnès and her made their through the crowded, overheated, and smoke-obscured streets, Louise saw people fight. Stoic nobles and slightly panicky students were doing their best to douse the flames with water spells, heaving earth on them to deprive them of air, performing first aid, carrying out wounded and dead, and countless other things side-by-side with swearing commoners that were helping each other to get out of burning buildings, carrying the elderly, infirm, and young children, and grimly forming bucket crews. They weren't even thinking about it – they just helped each other without asking.

Just like she wanted to help Ezio. She needed to find her familiar, before he was...

She shook her head, forcing herself not to think about it. He was _alive_, she was _sure_ of it. She kept pressing on through the crowd, Agnès going first and making way. It was slow going, though, as they pushed past crowds of hurried nobles and commoners working in tandem to save themselves, to save their city.

After minutes, she saw a familiar head of blond hair, the colour standing out starkly amongst the grime, smoke, and fire. "Guiche!" she yelled out, catching his attention as she ran up to him. "Over here!"

"Vallière?" he asked, relief showing on his face. He was holding his rose wand (conspicuously lacking petals), his Valkyries marching back and forth as they dismantled a burning building. He looked dishevelled, his usually pristine uniform grimy with ash, soot, and... was that _blood_ on his shirt? "Oh, thank the Saints you're alive! Ser Ezio will be glad you're safe!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine! Do you wh— wait, did you see him?! Where is he?" she asked, eyes widening.

"I saw him about twenty minutes ago, I think! He fell over two hundred feet, somewhat, and crashed through three floors of a building, and I dug him out with a few of my Valkyries—"

"Get to the point already, boy!" Agnès said sharply, the scarred woman impatiently tapping her foot. "We don't have time for your nonsense!"

"Well, yes, alright, I get it, he was injured, but he was alive and moving, and he told me to tell you not to worry, and—"

"Guiche!" she said dangerously, drawing her wand and holding it right under his nose, eyes narrowing. "_Where_ is he!?"

"_He went after Fouquet!_" Guiche yelled loudly, quickly stepping away to get the tiny instrument of death out of his face. "First Ser Ezio, then you! Honestly, why do people keep threatening me today? It's outrageous!"

Louise ignored his complaining, looking at him with horror. "After Fouquet? But he nearly got himself killed the first time! Why would he go after her _again_?"

"Because Ser Ezio is incredibly noble, even though he holds no title, and is determined to bring Fouquet to justice!" Guiche exclaimed, holding his rose wand in one of his traditionally grandiose poses.

Agnès spat out onto the street, annoyed. "Or perhaps he's suicidal after having to deal with both of you for too long. Heaven knows I am."

"Why, that is most unladylike behaviour!"

"Oh, stick it up your arse, brat." She turned around to Louise as Guiche spluttered in indignation. "Right. He fell two hundred feet, he's injured, he's a commoner, and he's gone to hunt after a renegade triangle-class mage known to kill anyone coming after him. Overall, he's as good as dead. If you'll excuse me, I'll just go back to Her Highness now."

"_WHAT?_" Louise shrieked, aghast. "But you can't do that! We haven't found Ezio yet!"

"And you're bloody well unlikely to," Agnès said bluntly, rolling her eyes. She sighed when she saw Louise start to shake in fury. "Listen, mademoiselle," she said, kneading the bridge of her nose in frustration. "I'm a _Musketeer_. My duty, above all others, is to protect the royal family of Tristain. And right now, my charge was attacked by a renegade mage that killed dozens, injured scores more, and left one of our country's landmarks in ruins. Most of my men are dead or wounded. Her Highness is currently in the middle of an inferno, and I know her well enough that she'll probably try to kill herself saving people and healing the injured. I simply don't have time to chase after your damn _pet_."

"Ezio," Louise said slowly and dangerously, stepping closer and glaring, "is _not_ my pet. He's my _friend_."

Agnès shrugged, unconcerned with the girl's furious stare. "Call him what you will. I'm leaving."

And then she simply turned around, pushing through the frantic crowd and disappearing through the fogged-up street, leaving behind a furious Louise and a dumbstruck Guiche.

Louise kicked out at a piece of burned cinder, sending sparks flying. "How _dare_ she!" she raged, stamping out the wisps of flame that had caught on the hem of her uniform. "Oh, no matter! Which way did Ezio go, Guiche? Tell me!"

"He specifically told me that no one was to follow him—" Louise raised her wand threateningly. "North-east, into the woods! Damn it, Vallière, stop pointing that thing at me!"

"Thank you, Guiche," Louise said, her voice sounding surprisingly earnest as she turned around to walk down the road. "I'll find Ezio find and come back with him later, alright?"

"Vallière, Vallière, Vallière," a chiding voice called out. "What noble sentiment! Admirable, certainly, but you're going the wrong way! That's south, dear!"

Louise whirled around to see Kirche saunter towards them from the other end of the street, the dark-skinned Germanian waving cheerfully at her. Louise stared incredulously. "What are _you_ doing here, Zerbst?"

"Why, I'm going to help you find your man, of course!"

"He's my _familiar_, you dolt!"

Kirche shrugged it off. "Oh, details. He's both your familiar and a man, so who cares, really?"

"Any sane person would! Why would you help _me_, anyway?"

"Well, my motive is extremely egotistical, see," Kirche said, winking. "It would be an absolute _shame_ to have such a delicious specimen of manliness die off without having bedded him at least once, so saving him is pretty much win-win for all of us, right?"

"And tell me _why_, exactly," Louise snapped angrily, "I should let a fool like you come along?"

Kirche grinned and pointed straight up. "Well, to start with, I have a friend with a flying dragon."

Sylphid caught itself out of her steep dive, her wings flapping quickly as the large lizard landed, buffeting the soot and ash of the burning street into the air as Guiche and Louise hurriedly stepped back. The dragon landed, claws clacking loudly on cobblestone, and turned a sapphire blue eye on Louise, a strange sound between a whistle and a croon emanating from its throat.

On its back sat Tabitha, giving Louise and Kirche a simple look of annoyance and pointing at the empty space on Sylphid's back behind her. "Up. Now."

Louise's shoulders slumped. "Fine, you win," she muttered morosely as Tabitha helped her climb onto the dragon's back.

"Excellent!" Kirche cheered as she lifted herself onto Sylphid's back behind Louise, giving her rival a delighted hug that stuck the back of her head all the way into her cleavage. "This is going to be so much fun! Like a field trip!"

"Let go of me, you tramp!" Louise yelled, fruitlessly struggling against the stronger girl's grip. "Take this seriously, will you!?"

"Be careful, ladies!" Guiche called out with worry in his voice, quickly stepping to the side as Sylphid experimentally spread her wings in the narrow street, nearly taking his head off his shoulders.

"Stop that," Tabitha muttered to the two jostling students as Sylphid took off through the smoke of the burning city.

"Or else, Tabitha dear?" Kirche asked cheerfully as she repeatedly poked Louise's cheek, much to the smaller girl's annoyance.

"Dragon dinner."

Kirche and Louise promptly stopped squabbling, concentrating instead on finding a good grip on some of Sylphid's blue scales so they wouldn't be thrown off when the dragon made its first mid-air turn. It turned out to be a wise decision: Louise felt her stomach lurch unpleasantly as Sylphid climbed in height, quickly punching through the smoke of the burning city and reaching the blue sky.

The view from the back of the dragon took Louise's breath away.

To the east of the Academy, the outlying parts of the forest stretched out like a dark green ocean, pines and leaves of light and dark greens giving the impression of the changing sea, the hills and winds making her think of rolling waves. However, she knew that underneath its canopy was enough shadow and danger that merited the name it was given in the old texts: the Darkwoods, les Forêts Obscures.

To the south and west were only small coloured patches of yellow fields and green pastures divvying up the entire landscape. A long time ago, the Darkwoods had stretched even here, but humanity had conquered it and made themselves at home, nobles and commoners cultivating the earth and driving out the elves and orcs with the help of the Founder and his Saints. From up here, Louise could see villages, small farms, and even some smaller cities in the distance.

She would have probably enjoyed the view far more had her home been less devastated: the facade of the Academy was completely destroyed, stone crumbling from Fouquet's attack, and smoke was rising from the city surrounding it in thick black columns. The Academy looked very much as if it had been bombarded, as if war had come again to Tristain.

"Which way?" Tabitha whispered, her voice audible even though the wind whipped around them, snatching all other noise away.

"North-east!" Louise shouted into her ear to make herself heard.

A tap of the shepherd's crook on Sylphid's head later, and the dragon immediately banked towards the woods. As they reached the woods and flew low over the treetops, Louise kept her eyes wide open for a sign of her familiar on the ground below.

"Where do you think he is by now?" Kirche shouted into her ear.

"Ezio can run faster than any man I've ever seen!" she yelled back. "But I can't see anything! Can you?"

"Tabitha!" Kirche shouted forwards. "Get us up, quick!"

Again, it seemed that the tiny mage heard her friend, as impossible as it seemed with the rushing sound of the wind that enveloped them. Louise tried to turn around and glare as Sylphid climbed, not daring to pummel her rival at this height. "What are you _doing_?" she screeched. "We'll never find him from up here!"

"We don't even know where he is!" Kirche snapped back, her eyes unusually serious as she scanned the horizon. "We need to wait fo—"

"Found him," Tabitha muttered quietly, immediately catching their attention.

Her shepherd's crook pointed into the distance, and Louise and Kirche could easily see that a pillar of light was reaching into the sky, a faint golden glow surrounding the ground where it sprouted from. Even from so far away, all three mages felt _something_ blasting past them like a breeze of freezing air. Louise felt her skin tingle, giving her goosebumps and making her shiver. The feeling was eerily reminiscent of Ezio's summoning three weeks ago.

She had no time to think about it, though, as Sylphid angled her wings and sped off towards the far-off light, faster than the dragon had ever flown before.

...

_Well, well, well, how incredibly tenacious_, Ezio thought, half amused and half irritated as he saw how the trail split up into three different directions. Again.

This was the third time that had Fouquet had tried to throw off her pursuers by sending them on a wild goose chase. Had Ezio been less observant (and had his senses been less sharp), he would have surely been fooled already.

Ezio took a sharp whiff of the air. The metallic scent of blood was pungent in the air, even against the backdrop of resin, tree bark, grass, moss, and upturned earth. The smell on one path was particularly strong, and Ezio saw the silhouette of Fouquet's past self disappear amongst the tangled tree roots of the dark forest up ahead.

Hm. She was losing blood fast, it seemed, and she appeared to be slowing down as well. Did she know that he was following her? Was she planning to ambush him, or was she just tired?

No matter. The important thing was that he was gaining on her.

He launched himself once more from branch to branch, hurling himself from one tree to the next, and wondering how he would finally put her down. Harass her until she collapsed from exhaustion, like he'd heard some African tribes hunted their prey? Shoot her from afar to catch her unaware? Fight her one-on-one and hope he could overpower her in a moment of weakness? None of that sounded particularly encouraging.

A clearing. Ezio slowed down, taking small, cautious leaps until he reached the outermost trees, peeking around a trunk.

Fouquet looked distinctly worse for wear. She had thrown off her robe and hood, the green fabric utterly stained with blood. Right now, the mage was sitting down next to a stream coursing through the clearing, cleaning out her wound and bandaging her own shoulder with torn swathes of her own cloak, cursing under her breath all the while. The Papal Staff lied in easy reach next to her.

Ezio frowned. Apparently, she was no healer. That was one advantage he had over her; her injury was slowing her down. But still, he had to admire her cunning. In this clearing, anyone trying to harm her would have to come out into the open to attack her, giving her early warning and allowing her to strike first. It was a ruse _he_ would have employed – if he had been alone, injured and unable to flee, at least.

The Assassin decided to wait and get his breath back. If he had the element of surprise, attacking her when she thought herself safe, he might still overpower those strange magical defences of hers. And if he had to, he'd simply try to take her head off. It worked for Perseus, and it would certainly work on a mere human, no matter what strange magic she may have had at her command.

The Florentine reached for the grip of his small crossbow, testing the tautness of its string. Thank goodness that the sun was out; the thing would have been utterly useless in the rain. He drew an arrow from his quiver and delicately loaded in into the crossbow, then threw a speculative look up into the foliage of the tree he was currently occupying. A higher vantage point might be useful...

He reached out for a higher branch and started hauling himself up with one hand still holding his crossbow, climbing up with nothing more than his free hand and two legs, silently thanking whatever strange magic that had rejuvenated him a few weeks ago.

There was a sharp _crack_ as the branch he was currently holding on to broke off without warning, the dry, snapping sound echoing around the silent clearing like the shot from a musket. Ezio managed to grab onto another branch as he fell, cursing, and spotted Fouquet leaping to her feet, looking straight at him and screaming with barely restrained horror and fury.

In retrospect, Ezio realized, chasing after someone in a forest wearing a fancy fluttering white cloak that stood out against the thick green foliage like a whore in a seminary was a _stupid_ mistake to make.

Fouquet grabbed the Papal Staff and raised it high over her head with both hands, smashing its head into the ground with all her might and a loud cry. The ground split from her blow, and a moment later the whole clearing shook with the greatest earthquake Ezio had ever had the misfortune of experiencing, the grass turning over as the earth cracked from the point of impact outwards, hurling boulders into the air and easily uprooting the trees that the Assassin had found refuge in, making the ancient trees topple and fall with resounding crashes and the creaking groans of breaking wood.

Ears ringing, Ezio let go of his branch and allowed himself to fall to the ground, landing on his feet and grunting in pain as his body protested against the rough treatment. He ignored it for the moment, launching himself over the cracked earth towards Fouquet. She had miscalculated with her desperate manoeuvre: destroying the earth had also kicked up a large cloud of dust and grit, and Ezio could hear the thief swearing as she tried to claw it out of her eyes.

He caught her on the back foot when he charged out of the dust cloud like a demon out of hell. She gritted her teeth and raised her staff to block the flurry of blows of the hidden blades she had now come to expect from him.

Ezio calmly shot her in the leg.

Fouquet screamed as the arrow punched through her thigh, the green-haired woman dropping to her knees in pain. It was just as Ezio had thought: that arcane stone armour of hers needed its caster's full attention to be effective, like most of the magic the nobles of Halkeginia used. Caught by surprise and light-headed by blood loss and exhaustion, and Fouquet simply didn't have the strength to call on it in time.

Ezio stowed away his crossbow and drew his ancestor's sword, charging full tilt at Fouquet to run the blade through her chest.

"Oh no you _don't_!" Fouquet shrieked, stabbing the broken earth with the blunt end of the Papal Staff. Ezio saw the earth suddenly rise like a wave before her, slamming into him and throwing him away like a ragdoll, driving the breath from his lungs as he slammed to the ground.

He got to his feet, tasting blood and shaking his head groggily to clear it, and lifted his left arm. A moment later, the hidden gun cracked, the bullet hitting Fouquet's chest and cutting off the woman's next incantation as she pointed the Papal Staff at him, making her stumble back, yet she didn't fall.

No time to reload. Ezio charged again, sword raised, trying to close the distance and drive the blade through her heart before she could bring the Staff to bear again.

And then all he saw was _light_.

Familiar golden light forced him to stop in his tracks, and once again he felt a crushing weight on his shoulders as he fell to his knees with a cry. Again he felt as if he was cursed to carry the sky on his shoulders, those _voices_ whispering to him, asking him to submit, to stop resisting, to bow and _obey_—

A high-pitched, hysterical laugh cut through the noise assaulting his mind, and he strained with all his might to shakily lift his head. Fouquet was stumbling towards him, supporting herself on the Papal Staff, blood flowing freely from her wounds. All around her, the golden light flowed in waves and ripples, emanating from the cross of the Papal Staff, flooding the destroyed clearing with light, and making it streak into the sky like a pillar called down from Heaven.

Fouquet looked like an angel, like the pictures that adorned the altars in Italia – powerful, full of wrath, coming to punish the sinners and the guilty, and again Ezio felt that instinctive need to lie down and _obey_.

"It's over, you thug!" the angel called out gleefully as she stumbled closer, a victorious gleam in her eye. "It's _over_, don't you understand? Years and years I prepared for this moment – to steal the Founder's treasures, all to liberate my people from the nobles' yoke! And you thought that _you_ could stop me?" She laughed again as she stopped in front of him, slamming the butt end of the Staff into his face and sending him sprawling. "You may be strong, familiar, but you are only _human_! Your master has abandoned you! You are _alone_! How do you want to fight _me_, when I hold the power that the Founder and God himself has granted me, familiar? Tell me!"

_Bow down, human_, the voices whispered again, their tone soothing and calm. _Bow down and obey. This is your purpose of your existence, the purpose for your creation. Bow down, human, and the pain will disappear._

It would be so easy to just give in, Ezio realized. All he needed to do was just give up, stop listening to his own mind that was frantically scrabbling together its many pieces to remain whole, just give in to that lovely, calm voice that promised him rest, and oh, he certainly needed rest, he was far too tired—

There was someone else, though... Someone that had depended on him... A small girl...

And then another voice burst through the fog clouding his vision, cutting through the pain that assaulted his mind. His own voice, cold and proud.

_My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze. I bow to no lord, mortal or otherwise. _

He gritted his teeth, fighting against the weight on his shoulders that threatened to drive him into the ground, pushing against it with all his might, slowly getting to his knees even as his own body screamed in pain.

_An Assassin bows to _no one_. _

He realized that he still held his sword in his right hand, that he was gripping the eagle-tipped hilt with all his strength, gripping it so fiercely that he thought he heard his own bones creak.

He pushed once more against the overwhelming power and light as Fouquet continued to gloat, and then he roared, screaming at the top of his lungs as he called on his entire being to break free.

And then suddenly the weight was _gone_, and Fouquet was right _there_—

Steel flashed, and Fouquet screamed as she dropped the Staff, staring at her own hand in disbelief as she realized that it was now missing half its fingers—

And then shocked green eyes stared right into Ezio's cold black ones as he drove his sword right through her stomach and out her back.

For a moment, they simply stood there, looking at each other. Ezio twisted the hilt, and the blade came loose with a sickening sound as it tore through flesh, Fouquet dropping limply to the ground.

Both of them stood there, splattered with blood, still staring into each other's eyes.

"You've killed me," Fouquet said, her voice full of wonder.

Ezio dropped his sword, kneeling at her side as she clawed at her stomach, desperately trying to stop the blood flowing. Death was inevitable now. The mages of this world might have been able to save her, but they were too far away to help. And besides, he wasn't sure she deserved help.

"Yes," he answered simply, watching her die.

The woman laughed shakily. "How very strange... When I imagined my death, it was always different..."

"We rarely choose the time of our deaths," he said, putting his hands on top of hers and rubbing them soothingly.

"How true... how true..." Fouquet shakily smiled at him, spectacles askew, and as she lay there, splattered with blood, quiet and shaking as she died, Ezio could easily see that she had once been a beautiful woman.

For a moment, he was at her side in silence, Fouquet starting to shiver as she bled out bit by bit, Ezio simply holding her hands. He'd always found that people died easier, more peacefully, when someone kept them company in their last moments. Even if it was their worst enemy.

"Why, familiar?" she suddenly asked, looking up at him.

"Why did I kill you?"

Fouquet chuckled, wincing in pain a moment later. "No, not that. Why did you chase after me? You had no duty to. Your master was safe."

"...Because you murdered innocents. You killed people for your own gain, for power. That's why."

She gave him a mocking smirk. "How... _idealistic_ of you, familiar." She spoke the word with quiet scorn. "Have you never killed innocents before?"

He averted his eyes. "I have," he admitted quietly. "I have always regretted it. Unlike you, it seems."

"Hah," she laughed, blood flowing from the corner of her mouth – the bullet lodged in her lung made her breath run ragged. "I'm a thief, familiar. A _very_ good thief. Killing is something I'm not particularly good at. When it happens, I never plan it. People just happen to... get in the way."

She looked up at him and smiled faintly. "But you... _you_ are a real killer, aren't you? I've seen how you fight. Ruthless. Methodical. Creative." She laughed again, hacking up blood. "...A true master at work... Killing is something you've done for a very long time, isn't it?"

Ezio wiped away the blood from her mouth and chin. "Yes," he said simply. "I have done it for a very long time. Far too long." He looked down at the dying woman, his eyes sadder than they'd been for a long time. He leant close, speaking softly. "But I _will_ keep doing it. As long as people like you walk the earth, people that will murder others to simply gain power, to bind them to their will against their own, I will keep killing and killing, and I will not stop until there are absolutely _none_ of you left."

Fouquet laughed him right in the face, the once beautiful woman's green eyes looking madder than they ever had before. "Then rejoice, assassin! Times of war and strife are looming, drums and swords and many marching feet! A revolution, a war to sweep over these lands and forever change this cruel world!" She cackled. "You'll find many people to kill, I'm sure of it!"

Ezio glared at her, but it didn't keep her from laughing, the woman chortling insanely to herself, as if she was enjoying some obscure joke that only she could understand. Soon, however, her laughs turned to small whimpers as she started shaking uncontrollably.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her voice getting fainter. "Oh, _God_. I never wanted to die like this. Not like _this_."

"Like what?"

"Unfulfilled." She looked up at him. "I wanted to change things, familiar. _Change_ them. Don't you understand that?" Her hands gripped his with renewed strength, her eyes growing desperate. "My family was _murdered_, familiar, murdered by a man we'd sworn fealty to! On a simple whim! And we could do absolutely _nothing_ to stop it!"

"And?" he asked neutrally.

"And so I became a thief." She laughed bitterly. "I stole from the nobles. I killed some of them. I destroyed whatever belief they had that they were untouchable, I destroyed their disgusting little idyll that they had built for themselves on the backs of the commoners that could do nothing to fight against them!" Her eyes clouded over for a moment, but then they returned to stare at him, full of fire, even as her body grew weaker and weaker. "And then _they_ came to find me."

Ezio frowned. "Who came to find you?"

"Reconquista." She spoke the name gleefully, like a child sharing some great secret. "I was alone, familiar. I was alone, fighting all the nobles of this world. Whatever I did, no matter how many nobles I killed, there were always ten more to take their place. And _they_ came. They wanted to change the world! Free the commoners! But they needed my help to do it."

"And you said yes."

She laughed again, a high-pitched giggle that bordered on the hysterical. "Of course I said yes! My family had been killed on a noble's whim, familiar. And the world just _watched_, unable to help, no matter how wretched and cruel it may have been. I wanted to change that world, that world that allowed my parents and siblings to die, and _they_ offered me the chance to do it when no one else could."

"...By stealing the Papal Staff."

"Papal Staff?" she repeated, frowning and shaking her head. "The Staff of Destruction, familiar. That's what it's called. A weapon from times long gone, used by the Founder to drive out the elves from the Holy Land... You saw its power, didn't you? No human can resist it." She kept frowning at him, as if she were trying to figure out some puzzle. "Except you. How strange."

"I have led a strange life," he said, smiling bitterly at her. "Much like you, I think."

"There's a curse, I think," she said, frowning as she struggled to remember. "_May you live in interesting times_... Yes. That's what it was. It always thought it was a foolish thing to say. Life isn't supposed to be boring, is it? But then again..."

For a moment, both stayed there in silence, the only sound being Fouquet's increasingly ragged breathing that grew fainter with every moment.

"Do you have anyone?" he finally asked, glancing at her gaping stomach wound. It wouldn't be too long now. "Anyone you would wish to know of your death?"

"...There's a man called..."

"Yes?" Ezio asked, bringing his ear down to her mouth.

"Roberto," she whispered.

Ezio frowned. "Where do I find him?"

"...Go to the city of Tristain," she whispered, her voice growing fainter. She weakly reached up to her throat with a bloodied hand, shivering fingers vainly grasping at a silver chain around her neck. "There's a brothel called the Fairies' Inn, run by a man named Scarron... Show him my necklace. He'll know where to find him."

"What should I tell him?" he asked quietly as he gently lifted Fouquet's head, taking the silver pendant from her neck.

"...Tell him," she coughed, blood suddenly welling up from her mouth, "...Tell him that Matilda has finally rejoined her family."

"Matilda?" He saw her give a faint nod, and he smiled. "That's a very pretty name."

"...What's yours, familiar?"

"Ezio."

"...That's an unusual name. Exotic, isn't it? What's it mean?"

"Eagle. It means Eagle."

"Strange..." Matilda was now no longer looking at him, her eyes looking at the clouds above. The golden light around them had nearly dissipated, though little wisps were still dancing through the blue sky above them. "...Do you think there's a place for us somewhere, Ezio? A place for us sinners?"

Ezio answered honestly as he held her mangled hand. "I don't know."

"Well, perhaps we'll meet again one day..."

Ezio thought of the stories the priest used to tell during mass in his childhood, of heaven and hell and eternal punishment, and how these were only _stories_, started by a simple carpenter with a strange artefact from forgotten times, and carried on and on during centuries by popes and cardinals and priests until no one knew the truth anymore. If there ever _had_ been a truth.

"Or perhaps we won't."

"Who knows?" She smiled faintly at him, green eyes dimming. "All _I_ know is that you will live in interesting times, Ezio. Make the most of it."

There was a faint, regular sound on the edge of his hearing, and he quickly looked up to see Sylphid bear down on him, remnants of golden light making her scales shine an eerie blue as she batted her wings. She landed in the destroyed clearing with a loud thump, crushing earth and grit underneath her claws, and then Louise was suddenly running towards him, her eyes wide and panicked.

"Ezio!" she shouted as she threw herself to kneel next to him, reaching out to his bloodied face to sure that he was still alive, that he was still _there_. "Are you alright?!"

The Assassin winced. "No need to shout, _piccina_," he muttered, suddenly feeling very tired. He smiled reassuringly at her. "I'm still alive."

"Well, at least there's _some_ good news to this disaster," another voice muttered. Kirche's footsteps slowed down as she approached with a frown, wand at the ready, Tabitha silently walking alongside her with her shepherd's crook in hand. "What about Fouquet?"

Ezio glanced down at Matilda and saw lifeless green eyes look past him at the clouds above, her face still smiling that faint smile. If she hadn't been lying in a pool of her own blood, her body torn and battered, she would have probably looked peaceful.

He heard silent footsteps approach, and then Tabitha kneeled next to the two of them, a small hand reaching out to touch her throat. "Dead," the small mage pronounced a moment later, throwing the Florentine a sharp glance.

Ezio nodded, reaching out with bloodstained fingers to adjust Matilda's spectacles until they were no longer askew, and then gently closing her eyelids until it looked as if she was merely sleeping. "_Requiescat in pace_."

Louise frowned at him, puzzled. "What does that mean?"

"Old Romalian," Tabitha answered quietly. "Rest in peace."

"Can we _leave_ now?" Kirche interrupted before Louise could open her mouth to fire off questions. The Germanian had turned around, wand outstretched and nervously eyeing the surrounding forest. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we're _in the middle of the Darkwoods_. I'd like to get out of here before _something_ finds us and thinks we'd make for a decent lunch."

Ezio chuckled. "After all this effort, ending up in some beast's belly would be a shame. _Un momento,_ _per favore_." He quickly patted down Matilda's corpse, and quickly found what he looked for in a pouch on her belt. If she had gotten a hold of the Staff...

He turned the Apple of Eden over in his hand, examining it intently. He heaved a relieved sigh – even after the commotion it had just been through, it was undamaged. But then again, the Pieces of Eden had survived thousands of years across human history – a little scuffle like this probably wouldn't even scratch it.

"Ezio?" Louise asked hesitantly, eyes glued to the glowing object. "What in Founder's name is that thing?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," he answered easily, stowing the Apple away in a pouch on his belt. He got to his feet, cursing quietly under his breath as he nearly stumbled. Now that the danger was over, his body was demanding its toll after nearly an hour of constant running, fighting, and getting pummelled by unfamiliar magic.

"I thought you weren't injured!" Louise said indignantly as she stopped him from falling over.

"Ah, no," he corrected, grinning and wincing at the same time. "I said I was still alive, not that I wasn't injured. Not exactly the same thing, wouldn't you agree?"

"Here," Tabitha said quietly, and master and familiar looked up to see the small mage levitate the Papal Staff in mid-air, right in front of Ezio's nose, and keeping a healthy distance."Dangerous," Tabitha added stoically when she saw the looks she was receiving.

Ezio chuckled, amused by her paranoia. "Oh, _assurdo_," he said, reaching out for the floating staff. "You have to be careful, certainly, but—"

As soon as his fingers touched it, his head felt as if it had been bludgeoned by a hammer, and he clenched his eyes shut as memories that he distinctly remembered _not having _slammed into his brain, making him clench his eyes shut in pain.

He suddenly felt as if he was walking along an old, dark passageway, whispers and faint lights dancing across his closed eyes.

_Do you remember, Desmond?_ An older voice, quiet but insistent. _Do you remember how to open this door?_

_I'm... I'm not sure._ This one was younger, more hesitant. _Ezio's memories showed me the place, yeah, but Connor's memories of visiting this place are... fuzzier._

_Fuzzier? _Another voice interrupted, snide and exasperated. _Rebecca, did you just hear the vocabulary our boy wonder used to describe the marvellous technology of the Animus? 'Fuzzier!' Honestly, Desmond, what is it you think we're doing here, kindergarteners out on a field trip? _

_Shut up, Shawn,_ a woman snapped, her temper obviously frayed._ You're _really_ not helping here. _

_Well, neither is he! May I remind you that we've spent about two weeks in this dank and dreary place, and we haven't even advanced past the bloody entrance hall! We're locked in here because Abstergo is waiting outside to shoot us all in the head the moment we leave or they figure how to open the door, our food supplies are dwindling, and my stash of coffee is running out! Pardon me if I don't have a particularly sunny disposition about our situation!_

_Shawn, so help me—_

_I think I need to re-examine those DNA sequences in the_ _Animus_, the voice apparently belonging to Desmond interrupted, deep in thought. _There just... wasn't enough detail in the places Connor visited. Or perhaps I just missed it when I went through the first time. We can only check again. _

_Great, now he's spending even more time in the magic machine_, the other man grumbled. _We're all doomed._

_It's not magic, Shawn_, the woman sighed. _It works by— Why am I even telling you this? You know how the Animus works! _

_Well, however that fancy couch of yours may work, it still doesn't solve our immediate problem, does it?_

_Well, do you have any better ideas? _

_...Open the front door and see what happens?_

_An idea that _won't_ get us all killed or experimented on?_

_Well, what am I _supposed_ to think of? I'm a historian, woman, not a miracle worker!_

_Settle down, children_, the older voice interrupted sternly, immediately stopping the squabbling. The man sighed, sounding resigned._ Well, we have no real choice, do we? Get back into the Animus, son. Looks like we'll need to work through more of the DNA sequences from Connor's later life in order to get useful information._

_Yeah, dad._ Desmond laughed._ Pull me out if my feet start twitching, alright?_

_Desmond, I'm pulling the plug if I think you're going too far, _the older man said_, _his tone deadly serious._ We don't want you to end up like Subject 16. _

_...He had a name, dad. Clay. Clay Kaczmarec. _

_Well, the moment you start redecorating the walls with your own blood, I think we might consider pulling you out of that thing, _the other man said snidely.

_Shawn!_

_What? I was trying to be reassuring there! _

_Let's get back to camp, _the older man said, his voice harried and tired._ We're running out of time—_

The Papal Staff fell to the ground with a dull thud as it slipped from Ezio's shaking fingers. He stood there, swaying, his mind burning with pain as he tried to grasp what he had just heard, ignoring Louise and the others' attempts to get him back to his senses. Memories slammed into his brain, finding space to store them where none were before, and his mind was afire with pain as he suddenly heard quite whispers, words that made no sense, pictures and images of places he'd never seen—

A sharp slap across the face brought him back to reality. He stood there, blinking quickly, and saw that Kirche and Tabitha were looking at him with obvious concern. He spotted Louise just in time as she raised her hand again, looking absolutely terrified.

He grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again, smiling faintly. "_Mille grazie_, Louise. I needed that."

"How could you be so _stupid_!?" she exploded, grabbing the front of his cloak and dragging him close, glaring him right in the eye. "Fouquet _killed_ to get this thing, and Tabitha told you it was dangerous, for Founder's sake! Are you _trying_ to get yourself into an early grave?"

"I think 'early grave' is the wrong choice of words for someone my age," Ezio answered, amused by her indignation. "If anything, it would be late."

"Oh, you can't be _that_ old," Kirche interrupted, grinning.

"I'm sixty-six," Ezio said drily as he picked up his sword, sheathing it. He tore his tattered cloak from his shoulders, carefully wrapping the Papal Staff until no hint of golden metal was visible. He carefully handed it to Tabitha.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. The pale-haired girl cocked her head, her expression never changing. "For not listening to you," he clarified, adding a small, awkward bow to his apology.

Tabitha studied him intently for a moment, blue eyes boring into his, and then she just nodded as she accepted the now-safe Staff, silently walking past him towards Sylphid. The dragon was starting to fidget, watching its surroundings anxiously and nervously flapping its wings. Apparently, it disliked the strange forest as much as Ezio did.

The Assassin bent down, scooping up Fouquet's corpse into his arms with surprisingly gentle care. "Let's go," he said quietly to Louise. "This forest is giving me a bad feeling."

They both turned to leave, only realizing a few steps later that Kirche wasn't following them. "_Signorina_ Zerbst?"

Kirche stood there, her mouth opening and closing like that of a goldfish and rudely pointing at Ezio with a look of stunned disbelief on her face. "Sixty-six..."

Louise's eyebrow twitched. "I am going to kill her one day, I swear."

Ezio shrugged and walked back towards Sylphid, lifting up the body carefully to sling it across the skittish dragon's back. "_Bene_, we can always leave her here in the forest, all by herself, with all those wolves and bears and other pleasant animals. Don't you agree, Louise?" he asked loudly, winking at her.

His little master grinned as she accepted his help to climb onto Sylphid's back. "Sounds like a _wonderful_ idea, Ezio. Why, apparently there's even elves and orcs and—"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Kirche yelped, hurrying to join them. She threw an annoyed look at Ezio when he linked his hands to help her climb onto the dragon's spine. "No need for drastic measures," she muttered, pouting as he easily lifted her up.

Ezio climbed up after her with a laugh, and found some space behind the annoyed Germanian. "One man's drastic measure, _signorina_," he spoke quietly into her ear, "is another man's pleasure."

Kirche threw him a sharp glance over her shoulder. "Why, you should be careful, _Herr_ Auditore," she answered in a whisper, smirking as she leant her back into him. "Play with fire, and you might get burned."

"Are you two quite done?" Louise snapped, sounding rather piqued. Sylphid was agitated, moving her wings nervously, and even Tabitha seemed slightly uncomfortable as she scanned the forest around them.

"Let's leave," Ezio said loudly. "We've done all we can."

Sylphid didn't even wait for Tabitha's quiet command, stretching her blue wings and launching herself into the air as quickly as she could, flying far above the treetops to get as far away from the Darkwoods as possible.

...

The flight back to the Academy was sombre and quiet. For one, it was impossible to talk with the winds snatching away every second word, and Kirche and Louise were unusually quiet on the flight, not even one cross word or teasing remark exchanged between the two of them. Fouquet's bloodied and battered corpse, strapped onto the dragon's back, might have had something to do with it. Ezio's mind, however, was still trying to understand what had happened when he had touched the Papal Staff, trying feverishly to understand the influx of memories he had suddenly gained out of nowhere.

Desmond. He knew that name. He _knew_ it, he was certain of it. Minerva had mentioned it. She had talked to _Desmond_, not to him, when she had appeared back in the catacombs of Saint Peter's cathedral in Rome. He'd been nothing more than a conduit, a vessel to transmit the message by some strange way that he didn't understand. In the dark library of Masyaf, he had seen something that he thought was him, the faint outline of a man in strange clothes, and he'd even spoken to him for a few moments, passing along whatever he could.

Ezio... They had mentioned _his_ name. How did they know his name? And who was this 'Connor' person? Who were the other people talking to Desmond? And Abstergo – all these were names that he couldn't even begin to understand!

He thoughtfully eyed the wrapped Staff, held securely in Tabitha's hands as the small mage looked straight ahead into the whipping wind, guiding her dragon familiar with a quiet order or a small tap on the head when required.

Was this even the same Staff that Rodrigo Borgia had desired so long ago? It certainly _looked_ exactly the same... but then again, he hadn't received strange memories from it back then. But he knew that recording memories for posterity was possible, if difficult. Altair had done it, to record the location of the Temple and the Pieces of Eden and pass them on to later generations... Was the same possible with other objects, perhaps? But even if it was, how had these artefacts come to Halkeginia, a world so separate and distant from his own home?

He carefully opened his hand, examining the bloodied necklace that Fouquet had given him, moments before she died. It was a simple silver chain, but the pendant attached to it was a small piece of undecorated silver that looked like an inverted, stemless Greek upsilon with hooks at its end. The ancient symbol of the Hashishim, and the one that all their successors used, partly out of genuine respect, partly out of quiet reverence for tradition, and mostly out of pride.

And how were they connected to the Templars and Assassins?

Now he _definitely_ had to confront the Academy's headmaster about the so-called 'Staff of Destruction,' and why they had been so adamant about concealing the Apple of Eden from him. Ezio grimly stowed the necklace away, feeling the Apple's heavy weight in the pouch on his belt. They might not like the fact that he was asking uncomfortable question, but he would get his answers – one way or another.

"Nearly there," Tabitha said quietly, and he looked up to see where she was pointing with the shepherd's crook in her left hand. He heard Louise's sharp intake of breath, and felt Kirche shift uncomfortably in front of him.

From high above as Sylphid circled, it was easy to see the damage done to the Academy and the city. The fires had apparently been mostly extinguished, though smoke still rose in small columns from burning hulks, small flames still eating away at the mostly wooden buildings. The Academy, separated as it was by walls and a mostly decorative moat, had managed to escape the inferno. However, that was little comfort – Fouquet's golem had rampaged without restriction, destroying gardens, courtyards, and defacing the Academy. Entire floors were simply torn out and destroyed, large, gaping holes left behind in the school's facade.

His sharp eyes picked up a thick gaggle of people camped out on a field outside of the city proper, tents erected row by row and people milling about with great activity. Up here, they looked as small as ants, but Ezio still managed to recognize the small golden sheen standing out like a beacon. The princess was amongst them, he was sure of it.

"Down there!" he shouted, pointing. "By the southern gate!"

Tabitha nodded once, and soon they circled lower and lower, Sylphid repeatedly adjusting her wings to make their descent smooth and controlled.

The dragon's arrival caused quite a few people to look up, tense talk and whispers soon exploding afterwards, but if any of the four stragglers had expected a warm welcome or a triumph on their return, they would have been sorely disappointed. The reason was all too obvious.

"Oh, Founder help us all," Louise muttered with horror in her voice, looking as if she wanted dearly to throw up.

The row of tents and the space around them had been converted into an improvised field hospital, healers and nurses flitting back and forth to attend to the dozens, perhaps even hundreds of injured scattered about on crude litters, many of them moaning and writhing in pain as they clutched their injuries or feebly asked their despairing friends and families for water, while others were already lying dreadfully still.

Ezio saw a man hurry past, his arms stained crimson all the way up to the elbows and carrying a bucket in each hand, filled to the brim with bloody limbs crushed by falling rocks and debris – with such injuries, amputation was really the only way to save the patient from gangrene, at least if the shock didn't kill them. Louise shivered, and he reached past Kirche to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder. "_Coraggio_, Louise," he muttered.

"Ser Ezio!" a voice called out, sounding elated. "And the demoiselles Vallière, Zerbst and Tabitha too! Thank goodness you're alive!"

Guiche stumbled towards them from the shade of the makeshift shelter, grinning from ear to ear and looking genuinely happy at their return. The effect was marred by the thick, bloodied bandage wrapped around his skull and the fact that one of his uniform sleeves was torn up all the way to the shoulder, his arm held in a sling. Blood was splattered across his frilly shirt, and his uniform was torn and ragged, soot and ash staining it.

Ezio swung his leg over Sylphid's back, sliding down the animal's flank to land in front of the battered student. "Gramont? _Cazzo_, what happened to you?"

Guiche glanced at his injured arm and laughed. "Nothing serious, Ser Ezio! It's only broken. Nothing that won't heal, I'm sure!"

"Did he tell you _how_ he got his arm broken, Our Sword?" Marteau boomed as he marched towards the small group that was just dismounting. The head cook clapped a huge paw on Guiche's shoulder, laughing uproariously. "Stupid idiot here rushed right into a burning building as it was collapsing when he heard there was someone still inside, managed to have a beam crash on top of him, and then walked out with a child under his cloak so that it wouldn't suffocate! Insane, that was!"

Guiche winced in pain, but still managed to scowl at the man's compliment. Ezio just raised an eyebrow. "That was... particularly foolish, _ragazzo_," he said drily, but grinned when Guiche's expression turned to dismay. "Well done, Ser Gramont."

"Haven't seen anything as stupidly heroic like that since the war, I tell you!" Marteau agreed cheerfully. "That child's mother could have kissed you, milord, I'm damn sure of it!"

Guiche chuckled, swaying on his feet. "Well, the citizens are all safe now, and we're mostly treating the injured..." His eyes grew wide as he looked past Ezio at the corpse that Tabitha was levitating to the ground. "Is that...?"

Ezio nodded grimly. "Fouquet. Dead."

Marteau whistled as the body landed on the ground, kneeling next to it. "Well, I'll be – isn't that Mademoiselle de Longueville, the headmaster's secretary?"

"Alias," Tabitha said succinctly as she lightly floated to the ground next to Ezio, helping Kirche and Louise down from Sylphid's back. The dragon prodded Fouquet's corpse with its long nose, nostrils flaring, until Tabitha sternly bopped her familiar over the head. "No eating."

"Did you kill her, Ser Ezio?" Guiche asked quietly, staring at the woman's many deep wounds.

Ezio glanced at him. "What of it?"

Guiche laughed shakily. "Nothing, really. You just killed a _triangle-class_ mage, Ser Ezio, one of the most powerful renegades of Halkeginia!" The student shook his head, looking terrified. "Oh, _Founder_, how could I have been so _stupid_ to challenge you to that duel..."

Marteau stood back up and threw a long, calculating look at Ezio, the intelligence behind those eyes belying his brutish looks. "You're going to go into the history books for this, Our Sword."

Ezio gave a small bark of laughter. He'd read quite a few of those history books in the last few weeks, and none of them mentioned any commoners killing nobles one-on-one. "I doubt it."

"Is Her Highness alright?" Louise piped up, looking rather worried as she wrung her hands.

Guiche nodded, waving in a vague direction at the other end of the camp with his good arm. "She's with Sister Catherine and the other teachers, helping the wounded, or at least she was when I last saw her. She's unharmed, as far as I know."

Louise threw an unsure look at Ezio, but before she could say anything, Montmorency stumbled out of the shade of the tent, her usually immaculate uniform stained with blood, the pretty blond girl herself looking rather dazed and unsure. She stopped right in front of Guiche, not looking him in the eye.

"Katie's dead."

All conversation stopped immediately. Guiche just stared at her, eyes wide in shock. "Wha..."

Montmorency stood there, starting to shake uncontrollably. She was starting to cry, tears running down her cheeks. "I... I was helping the other healers with the injured... They brought her in, she'd been crushed under a boulder... and... and..."

Guiche looked on helplessly as Montmorency broke down right in front of him, sobbing. Ezio gave him a push, and he looked back at him, panicked. "Go hug her, _stupido_!" he hissed.

And Guiche, looking the most terrified any of them had ever seen him, cautiously walked over to Montmorency and gave her an awkward, if sincere one-armed hug. "Hush, Monmon, it's alright..."

"It's _not_ alright!" the young girl wailed, hitting him in the chest and making him wince in pain. "The last time we talked, we were fighting about _boys_! I mean, how _stupid_ of us! I never got to say sorry!"

And then she broke down again and held on to Guiche for dear life, the terrified young noble whispering into her ear as he rubbed the girl's back, trying in vain to calm her down.

"Nothing like a battle to rearrange one's priorities, eh?" Marteau said quietly to Ezio.

"You've seen this before," the Assassin noted, studying the cook intently.

Marteau laughed, his voice bitter. "We haven't had a big war in years, thank the heavens above, but I still remember the last one." He shifted uncomfortably. "Third Germanian Campaign. Bloody business, that was."

"...Can you find the princess and the headmaster?" Ezio asked after a moment. "Tell them that Fouquet is dead. I'll come by soon."

Marteau nodded, bending down to lift Fouquet's corpse into his arms. "Aye. I'll see you around, Our Sword." And then he walked on, his bulk and the sight of another corpse allowing him quick passage through the healers and relatives thronging the hospital.

Ezio himself walked past Guiche and the crying noble girl, entering the darkness of the large tent that had been erected to accommodate the injured. Row of stretchers followed row of stretchers, and he could see family members crowding around their injured relatives – some of them desperately praying, some of them holding hands and comforting each other, others begging the healers to help their father or mother or siblings. The injured students were surrounded by their friends – the students were sent to the Academy by their parents, most of which wouldn't have yet received the new of their children's injuries or untimely death.

Everywhere he looked, he saw mages working feverishly to heal bleedings stumps after the surgeons had amputated a limb or two, their patients screaming with pain through their gags and weeping, or else enduring the procedure with unimaginable stoicism. Others were forcing enchanted water down their patients' throats to clear their lungs of the ash and smoke they'd inhaled as the city burned, trying to clean them out before they suffocated. Splints were made, broken bones reset, and torn flesh where jagged bones had cleanly punched through was also getting stitched and healed.

At regular intervals, a pair of men would silently walk past Ezio, a stretcher with a still form covered by a blanket between them, making room for those who needed it. The victims were elders, mothers, fathers, children and babes – all of them had gone to the Familiar's Fair to enjoy themselves, to celebrate, and it had turned into a tragedy.

Ezio found her at the very end of the end, no one around her stretcher. He kneeled at her side, studying the corpse that had once been known as a pretty girl named Katie. Her face was unmarred, curiously enough, even though her left side had been reduced to nothing more than shredded gore. Her arm and leg were completely gone, staining the ground and her uniform with blood. Her brown eyes were wide open, sightless, her features ghostly pale and relaxed in death.

He saw Kirche kneel opposite him, not caring about the blood that covered the ground. The Germanian student took a handkerchief from her pocket, carefully wiping away the blood from Katie's face.

"Did you know her well?" Ezio asked quietly.

"Not really," Kirche answered, looking carefully composed as she kept cleaning Katie's face as best as she could. "I was always... ah, an outcast, so to say. A foreigner, and a bit of a flirt as well... the other girls never really appreciated my company." A small hand touched her shoulder, and she smiled briefly as Tabitha kept her silent company. "Tabitha was all alone as well, you know. So we decided to be alone together. It was... convenient."

Ezio laughed quietly. "Outcasts, _vero_? I can relate."

Tabitha looked down at Katie's mangled corpse, not even flinching. "Exsanguination," she said quietly. "Shock."

Ezio threw the small mage a sharp look, but said nothing. Someone as young as her shouldn't have recognized the symptoms this easily – unless she had prior experience.

"Ezio? What does that mean?" Louise asked haltingly, standing helplessly next to him and not really knowing what to do.

"She bled to death," he explained quietly. "If she was lucky, she went in shock from the pain and blood loss, and never noticed when she passed on." He sighed. It was a bad sign that he had gotten so used to these things. "Is there a prayer?" he asked, glancing at the students around him. "Something we can do?"

"Allow me," Kirche said quietly. She clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and started to speak in a quiet, reverent tone.

"_Sei uns gnädig, Gott, sei uns nahe. Sei uns sehr nahe, jetzt, da wir trauern…_"

It flowed like a song, and though Ezio didn't understand a word of it, he listened intently to the short poem as Kirche spoke. "That was pretty," he commented when it ended. "What was that?"

"'_God, stay close to us_.' A death prayer from my homeland," Kirche said, smiling briefly at him before looking back at Katie. "Germanian is a wonderful language, _Herr_ Auditore," she said, sounding distracted. "Even though some may think of us as barbarians. You should hear some of our songs."

Ezio nodded once. "I'd like that." He reached out and gently touched the young girl's eyelids, closing them. "_Requiescat en pace_."

"Sorry, guv'nor," a gruff voice addressed them, and they all looked up at the two men that had appeared, hovering impatiently just outside their small circle. "We've got ter make room."

Ezio nodded. "_Bene_." He threw a last look at Katie's still face, and then drew a blanket over it, getting to his feet and stepping away, as did the others. The men pushed past them, grabbed the stretcher's handles, and disappeared with Katie a moment later.

"Let's get out of here," Kirche muttered as she wiped the blood from her knees. "I can't stand seeing the dead."

Louise mumbled her agreement, and the two rivals quickly left the tent, leaving Ezio and Tabitha standing in the middle of the tent by themselves. Ezio stepped out of the tent a moment later, taking a look around. The Academy was in ruins, the city more or less burned to the ground. He'd seen the Vestri Court littered with debris when they had flown over it, and the dead and wounded were everywhere, wailing and tears accompanying them.

And yet people were still alive. They were comforting each other, helping the healers bandage the injured and ease the passing of the dying, and students and commoners were lying in each others' arms and grieving together for their loved ones, others huddling outside the field hospital and chatting with their friends in low voices, simply glad to be alive.

Ezio took a deep breath. It smelt of blood, bile, and the brandy used by the healers to dull the pain. But he was still alive. Louise was alive. Their friends were still alive. Something to be glad for, at least.

He glanced at Tabitha, who was silently keeping him company and stonily watching the proceedings. He smirked wryly. "Glad to be alive, _piccina_?"

He thought he saw some surprise flit across her eyes, though it disappeared just as quickly. She thought some time about her answer. "...yes."

He nodded, taking the wrapped Staff from her hands. "Good." He sighed and steeled himself, marching decisively towards the other end of the encampment, leaving Tabitha to look after him. People recognized him as he walked past, some of the servants he knew quietly hailing him, some of the spectators recognizing him from his presentation and whispering amongst themselves, but they all respectfully stepped aside when he approached. Ezio's sharp ears picked up the whispers as he passed – apparently, the news of Fouquet's death (and the rumors of the thief's killer) had spread around the citizens like a wildfire. He ignored them, pressing on.

Soon, he reached a smaller group standing in front of a tent, the princess and the teachers amongst them, all quietly discussing some matter of importance. Louise stood off to the side, looking uncomfortable at the prospect of butting in.

Ezio had no such compunctions, however. "_Professore!_" he called out, and all conversation stilled as Old Osmond turned towards him, Henrietta, Agnès, and Colbert eyeing the Assassin curiously.

"We need to talk," Ezio said curtly, no longer in any mood for games.

Osmond nodded seriously. "Indeed we do, Monsieur Auditore."

…

Osmond led them inside his tent. With a tap of his staff and a muttered incantation, a desk and several chairs made of stone shot up out of the ground. He settled down at the desk, Colbert taking up position at his shoulder, and watched warily as Ezio, Louise, and Henrietta took their seats (Agnès hovering protectively behind her), carefully noting that the Assassin nursed his side all the while.

"So," he said evenly, looking Ezio straight in the eye. The usually friendly glint in it was gone. "Marteau already spoke to me. Fouquet is dead."

Ezio, battered, dirty, and injured as he was, didn't even flinch as he held the stare of the most powerful mage in the room. "Yes."

"How did she die?"

"Generally, a gaping stomach wound will cause anyone's death, mage or not," Ezio replied flippantly.

"And you caused _all_ of her injuries?" Colbert asked, disbelief in his voice. "The shoulder wound, the arrow in her leg, the bullet lodged in her lung, and the stomach injury? When dozens of other mages couldn't even _scratch_ her?"

Ezio threw him a cool look. "Is there a point to all this questioning?" he asked icily.

"There is, Monsieur Auditore," Old Osmond muttered quietly. "Please, just answer the question."

"I did," he answered, and he heard a sharp intake of breath from the princess. He refused to look away from Osmond, the old mage still holding his gaze, hands linked on his desk. "Is anyone going to tell me what you seem to find so incredibly disturbing, _per favore_?"

"There's no doubt now, sir," Colbert said quietly, glancing worriedly at his superior.

"A simple commoner not only defeating, but _killing_ a triangle-class mage in one-on-one combat?" Osmond sighed. "No, there isn't."

Ezio glared at them. "_What_ is there no doubt about?"

"You, Monsieur Auditore," Colbert said, straightening up and looking straight at him, his grey eyes serious and troubled, "are without any reasonable doubt the Gandalfr."

The proclamation had an effect on the people assembled in the room. Henrietta's and Louise's breaths hitched in something that Ezio couldn't recognize – it might have been horror or awe, he couldn't tell. It left him entirely cold, though. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

Louise's breath left her in a hiss as she rounded on him. "You don't _know_? But—"

Ezio threw her a glare, silencing her. "Let us just assume, _per cortesia_," he said deliberately slowly, "that I have absolutely no idea what any of you will be talking about, considering that I'm not a native of these lands, _bene_?"

"True enough," Osmond said, nodding. "You have only been here three weeks, Monsieur Auditore." He drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, looking thoughtful. "Though it is difficult to begin explaining the concept of the Gandalfr to you... Jean-Baptiste, this is more your department..."

Professor Colbert shot him a slightly irritated look, before returning his attention to Ezio. "This is going to be a tedious explanation," he muttered, rubbing his bald head as he sought for words. "…What do you know of Brimir, Monsieur Auditore?"

Ezio threw a quick look at Osmond. The old mage was silent, expectantly awaiting this answer. "Brimir is the saviour-like figure of your religion," he began slowly, glancing at Louise. She didn't correct him, so he continued with more confidence. "He is known as the 'Mage of the Beginning,' the first human to ever use magic, which is said to have been a gift granted by God himself. When humanity was in dire straits, beset by the magic of the elves and driven out of the Homeland, erring in the wilderness, he arrived to save them and taught his followers magic.

"These followers came to be known as Brimir's Saints, spreading the lore of magic and God's word across the known world. The students and descendants of these apostles rose to nobility, and disputes between Brimir's sons and followers after his death created the modern human kingdoms as they are known today."

For a moment, everyone in the room stared at him. He shifted uncomfortably. "...Did I say something wrong?"

"That... is surprisingly accurate, Monsieur Auditore," Colbert said, the first one to catch himself staring and clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"And why is it surprising?" Ezio asked politely.

"Well... you're a commoner," Louise muttered uncomfortably. "And a foreigner. When did you learn all this?"

Ezio remembered that Sister Catherine, kind as she was, had still called him a 'barbarian' when she met him. "I did spent quite a lot of time at the library," he reminded her. "And a friend gave me a book." He reached into one of his pouches and showed them the well-thumbed book Tabitha had gifted him. "Honestly, the fact that I am a commoner doesn't necessarily imply that I'm _stupid_."

"The Hero Ivaldi..." Osmond read out. "Hmm. A collection of folktales, isn't it? I still have my own copy of that book somewhere… Ah, no matter."

His eyes cleared as he fixed Ezio with his dark brown eyes, all trace of old age gone and instead replaced by the sharp gaze of a man who had lived to old age in times that killed many lesser men. "I know Jean-Baptiste has explained the Springtime Summoning Ritual to you already, so I won't insult your intelligence by repeating his words. I assume he told you that during the centuries and millennia of mages summoning their familiars, the case of a mage summoning another human being was unheard of?"

Ezio nodded sharply. He remembered that conversation far too well. Apparently, Louise did too, considering she shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to him. "Of course. Apparently, my summoning was... unusual, even by your standards."

"Which is why we immediately investigated your case." Colbert cleared his throat meaningfully, and Old Osmond sighed, throwing him a weary look. "Alright, alright; it was more Jean's idea than mine. I thought he was talking nonsense, but since the professor has been an invaluable addition to the faculty ever since the beginning of his tenure, I thought nothing ill of letting him examine the records in the Academy's Vault.

"And here it is that your story become interesting, Monsieur Auditore." He linked his hands, smiling wryly. "You see, we were wrong about you being the first human recorded as a summons in history. There were others, fleeting mentions in the oldest documents we had available." He leant forward, whispering. "Document dating back from the time of the Founder _himself_."

Ezio had to admire his flair for the dramatic, but his impatience still shone through. "And what, if you please, does that have to do with me?"

Old Osmond sighed. "Why does the youth of today have to be so impatient," he muttered. "How to put this… well, Monsieur Auditore, the only mage known to have summoned human familiars was none other than Brimir himself!"

Louise suddenly stood up straight, staring at Osmond with undisguised horror. "But that means—"

"Congratulations, Mademoiselle de la Vallière," Professor Colbert said, throwing her a small, commiserating smile. "After all these years, we have finally been able to determine your elemental alignment: Void."

Louise started to shiver. "If you think this is some sort of joke," she whispered, "I'll have you know that I don't think it's funny. At _all_."

"Do you think we would _joke_ at such an inopportune time?" Osmond demanded, eyes flaring angrily. "The evidence is such that it cannot be ignored! One, you summoned a human familiar. Two, his Familiar's Mark matches that of Brimir's familiar, the Gandalfr, line for line and rune for rune. And three, you absolutely _destroyed_ Fouquet's Blood Golem, a feat that none of us would have been capable of without prior preparation, me included, with nothing more than a single spell used on the spur of the moment!"

He leant back into his chair, looking exhausted. "Face the truth, child – you are the carrier of Brimir's element. The primordial magic, the one that God himself granted to humanity in times of darkness, is yours to command."

Louise sank back into her seat, staring at her hands. "I can do magic," she whispered to no one in particular. "It wasn't a fluke. I can _really_ do magic."

"_Piccina_," Ezio quietly addressed her, and she looked up to see him smile. "I told you, didn't I? Why did you doubt me?"

Louise laughed quietly, relieved and happy and scared, all at the same time. "I don't know."

"Excuse my ignorance, _per favore_," he said quietly, addressing the room at large, "but what is the Void, _esattamente_?"

"Four elements," Henrietta said quietly, drawing everyone's eye. She had clasped her hands in her lap and quietly listened to the discussion before joining in. "Water, Fire, Earth, Wind. Every mage has an affinity to one of those elements. The Void was Brimir's element, and his alone. The wielder couldn't use the other four, but they manipulated the fabric of magic itself."

She eyed Louise, a small smile crinkling her mouth. "It was thought lost, a legend. Until now."

"We cannot speak to anyone else about this," Osmond said sharply, quenching the happy mood and faint smiles that had formed on everyone's faces. "Your summons, Monsieur Auditore, was already enough to attract some unwelcome attention. If the Papacy got wind of a new user of the Void, we could very well bring down the Inquisition down on our heads, and _that_ is certainly something I would like to avoid."

Louise's face fell. "…I can't tell my mother, can I?"

"I'm afraid not, mademoiselle," Colbert said, his tone sympathetic. "Duchess Karin is a… ah, how to put this… headstrong and doctrinal woman. Informing her would probably do more harm than good."

"So nothing has changed, really," Louise muttered to herself, scowling.

"And how does Louise's magical talent concern me?" Ezio interjected. "What is this 'Gondolar' thing?"

"Gan-dal-fr," Colbert corrected, smiling at the way Ezio's tongue stumbled over the harsh, unfamiliar word and adopting a lecturing tone. "The Gandalfr is, according to legend, one of the familiars that accompanied Brimir on his travels. He was known as the 'Left Hand of God', and was known to have mastered all weapons to such heights that no other human could surpass him."

"The Gandalfr could fight toe-to-toe with the most powerful mages and emerge victorious," Osmond continued. "He fought elves and affronted armies by himself when protecting Brimir and his human disciples."

He glanced idly at Altair's sword hanging from Ezio's side. "We saw you fight the Gramont boy, Monsieur Auditore. Never, in all my life, have I seen a commoner defeat a mage in straight-up combat, as pitiful as his or her skills may have been. And your unusual rejuvenation is also a clue: the Gandalfr was noted to be in peak physical condition, no matter whether young or old, so that he could protect his master." Osmond lifted his shoulders. "Killing Fouquet only removed our last doubts. You _are_ the Gandalfr."

"…So?"

Their expression of dumbfounded disbelief on their faces was amusing, in a way. Ezio shrugged. "_Bene_, so I'm apparently an unusual familiar that knows how to use weapons, and Louise can use unusual magic. Just earlier today, I saw a gigantic stone monster rampaging around and killing people. In all honesty, compared to today's events, this isn't that difficult to believe."

"…You really don't know what being the Gandalfr actually _means_, do you." Louise's tone was flat.

"No, I do not," he said airily. "And it's not what I came here to discuss." He reached down and picked up the Papal Staff, unwrapping the upper part and revealing the artefact's golden cross.

"Ah, yes, the Staff of Destruction," Osmond said, smiling benignly. "Thank you for returning it, we were worried it could fall into the wrong hands—"

"This," Ezio interrupted him, "is an artefact from my homeland, _professore_. It was thought lost or well hidden. How did you come by it?"

And for the first time, Ezio saw the old headmaster genuinely stunned. _"What?"_

"This," Ezio said quietly, voice cold and dangerous, "is from my home, _professore_. It was known as the Papal Staff, an artefact wielded by our religious leader, and used to enthral crowds and drive men to madness." He leant forward menacingly, hand clenching around the wrapped staff. "_How did you come by it?_"

"Impossible," Osmond whispered, his face white as a sheet and his hands clenching on his desk as he stared at Ezio. "The Staff of Destruction is hundreds, perhaps even _thousands_ of years old. It was fashioned by Brimir, and wielded by the Founder as a weapon against the elves!"

Ezio's mouth curled into a mirthless smirk. "Your Founder seems to have been quite a fraud," he muttered, "to pretend to have fashioned this object."

Osmond's eyes narrowed and he held out his hand. "Return it to me, Monsieur Auditore."

"No," Ezio said flatly.

Colbert shifted slightly, grey eyes growing dangerously cold. "And why not?"

"This, _Messere_," Ezio said tightly, pointing at the Staff, "is a weapon of unimaginable power. It can be used to hold people against their will. It can turn men to madness. And from I saw with Fouquet, it can augment a mage's power to such an extent that they no longer have any need for incantations and can destroy swathes of land with a single blow." He eyed Colbert and Osmond warily, tensing in readiness. "And considering you had the _gall_ to steal the artefact in my possession when I arrived here, I'm not sure I can trust you with it."

Colbert's eyes widened at the accusation, and Ezio smirked humourlessly when his suspicions were confirmed. Osmond, on the contrary, wasn't fazed, though his eyes narrowed dangerously

"Strangely enough," the old mage said coolly, "we think much the same thing about _you_, Monsieur Auditore. We cannot let a stranger, a man with unknown powers and motives just traipse off with such a dangerous artefact and use it for God-knows-what. Especially when the artefact is powerful enough to topple kingdoms, to destroy the careful peace that has been established here. I think you can understand, hm?"

Ezio's shoulders tensed, his free hand drifting to row of throwing knives strapped to his side. "We are at an impasse, then."

Osmond's hand reached out again, the gnarled fingers of his other hand clenching around his staff, brown eyes serious. Colbert's hands uncurled from their sleeves, hanging freely from his sides as he studied the Assassin before him.

Ezio gritted his teeth. If it came to a fight with these two, he wasn't sure that he could win. To begin with, these two wouldn't underestimate him. They knew exactly that he was capable of killing mages. And they were both mages of skill superior to Fouquet, not to mention that Colbert was a killer like him – the only way to kill them would be to move faster than them and overpower them before they could chant their spells, but even then he'd have to fight his way out of the encampment. Perhaps he'd have to use the Pieces of Eden, something he'd loathe to do—

Colbert's hand twitched and Ezio leapt to his feet, three throwing knives between the knuckles of one hand while Osmond raised his hands in invocation, Colbert's fingertips bursting into blue flame—

"Gentlemen!" a voice chirped out, interrupting his increasingly violent thoughts. "Just one moment, please!"

Colbert, Osmond, and Ezio, all in various stances of combat readiness, blinked at the same time as their trains of thought were brought to a screaming halt, and just _stared_ at the cheerfully smiling princess that had stepped between them.

"Considering that we are in the middle of a hospital," Henrietta continued blithely, ignoring the danger around her, "do you honestly think that the best course of action is to start a brawl that might hurt dozens or hundreds more?"

Ezio answered first, not lowering his blades. "Erm... No?"

"Professor Colbert, do you _really_ want to endanger your students at this difficult time?"

"...It would be preferable not to," the teacher admitted, flames still dancing across his palms.

"May I suggest a compromise, then? Considering that I _am_ the heir to the royal throne of this country? You know, the one that founded the school and on occasion supplements your budget?"

Colbert and Osmond exchanged glances, but didn't lower their hands. Ezio kept his knives pointed at them.

Henrietta just smiled at them all as if the pointy bits of metal and lethal magic weren't even there. "Oh, if you _really_ insist on killing each other later, I don't mind you doing it, though I'd think it would be better if you did it somewhere else. I would suggest the Darkwoods. It seems fitting. But would you terribly mind calming down, at least just for the moment? Common courtesy would dictate it, at least. As would common sense, before someone sets the tent we're sitting in on fire."

Colbert's flames winked out, the bespectacled teacher looking rather sheepish. Old Osmond cautiously lowered his hands, his wary eyes never leaving Ezio's own. The Assassin's hand dropped to his side, though he didn't stow away his knives as he suspiciously watched the two mages before him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Louise had quickly gotten out of the way, hands raised protectively over her head, while Agnès had drawn her sword, though the Musketeer seemed glad that she now no longer had to worry about whom she was supposed to point it at.

Henrietta clapped her hands together, smiling delightedly. "Excellent! Now that we are _not_ trying to kill each other anymore, perhaps we could try to meet each other half-way?" She turned towards Osmond and Colbert, the two teachers looking increasingly bemused with the whole situation. "Now, what is it you want, gentlemen?"

"The return of the Staff of Destruction," Colbert said quickly before Osmond could open his mouth.

Henrietta turned to Ezio, still smiling. "And you, Monsieur Auditore?"

Ezio just blinked, said Staff in hand. "I want to make sure that it doesn't fall into the wrong hands," he said slowly.

"Which, if I remember correctly, was also the aim of these gentlemen, correct?"

The two teachers nodded, not really understanding what the princess was trying to get at. Henrietta nodded, smiling. "Now, here is what I propose," she began, turning towards Ezio. "I think it would best if you returned the Staff of Destruction to Lord Osmond and Professor Colbert."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because technically, it belongs to the Academy and should be held in their care. Fouquet stole it from the Vault here, didn't she?"

The logic was sound, Ezio had to admit, but he had rarely been constrained by such things as laws and notions of ownership. Nothing was true, after all. "I am not," he said slowly, "willing to return such a powerful object to people who would steal from injured travellers."

Henrietta turned back to the two teachers, eyebrow raised. Colbert squirmed under her eye as he tried to justify himself. "Well, er... Monsieur Auditore had an incredibly powerful artefact in his possession, and we weren't sure that he could be trusted with it, considering his lack of magic..."

"So, what you are trying to tell me, gentlemen," Henrietta interrupted him, "is that you both had good intentions, but didn't trust each other's motives to talk openly about it?"

The three men nodded, glaring at each other a moment later. The princess ignored the byplay as she mulled something over.

"Monsieur Auditore," Henrietta addressed him suddenly, blue eyes sharp. "If I allowed you to keep the Staff, what would you do with it?"

That was a _very_ good question indeed, and he said the first thing that came to mind. "Hide it."

"Where?"

"...I don't know," he admitted.

"Are you absolutely _sure_ that you could hide it in such a way that it wouldn't fall into someone else's hands?"

And Ezio realized he couldn't. He had no friends here in Halkeginia, no brotherhood that would be willing to hide the Staff where no-one would be able to find it and abuse its power. And Colbert and Osmond had everything he didn't – a fortified location, power, and local influence – to keep the Staff away from prying hands.

A bitter taste was in his mouth. If he really wanted to protect people from the Staff's power, he would _have_ to return it to Osmond and Colbert, no matter how much it galled him to.

He glared at the two teachers. "I concede your point, _vostra altezza_," he said, not looking at her, "but I don't have to _like_ it."

"Oh, we're not asking you to like it, Monsieur Auditore," Henrietta replied, flashing him a slightly cheeky smile. "Isn't that what a compromise is by definition, really? Everyone sits down at a table, everyone argues as loud as they can until they agree on something, and no one's happy afterwards."

Ezio couldn't help it, and he burst out laughing. Young as she was, the princess seemed to have an excellent grip on politics. "_Bene, bene_," he chuckled, smiling despite himself. "I understand. I will return the Staff," he began, his face growing stern again, "on the condition that it is not used as a weapon under any circumstances, nor removed from this location – unless there is no other alternative."

"That's all?" Colbert asked, relief showing clearly on his face as the tension left him. "By the Saints, Monsieur Auditore, this is the first time in a century that the Staff has left the Academy's Vault! You don't have to worry about us using its power."

"I have another condition," Ezio said calmly, and Colbert's face fell.

Osmond considered him. "And that would be?"

"I wish to study this Staff at my convenience."

The headmaster blinked – he obviously hadn't expected this. "Why?"

"That is none of your business," Ezio answered with a sharp smile.

For a few moments, Osmond and the Assassin glared at each other in silence. Osmond looked away first, exchanging a glance with Colbert. "Jean-Baptiste will accompany you on these occasions," the old man bargained. "We cannot take any more risks."

Ezio nodded. He could accept the headmaster's caution. "Done."

"Well, then we're agreed!" Henrietta exclaimed, smiling happily. "You'll keep your word, won't you, Monsieur Auditore?"

"You'll need to keep an eye on it," Ezio warned as he reluctantly wrapped the Staff back into its thief's blood-stained cloak. "Fouquet shouldn't have gotten this close to stealing it, if this artefact is supposedly dangerous."

"Mademoiselle de Longueville– Pardon me, Fouquet," Osmond corrected himself quietly as Ezio handed the Staff to a _very_ cautious Colbert, "was a mage renowned for her raw power and the inventiveness with which she used her talent."

"How did she manage to get employed here, in any case?" Ezio asked, annoyed and unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.

The headmaster's shoulders slumped as he sat back down at his desk, and he suddenly looked far older than his age, making him seem ancient and weary. "She came to me under a fake name, asking for work. I knew she was hiding _something_, but I assumed that she had simply had a dispute with a family, or run away from a marriage she had been forced into. Stranger stories have happened before, so I didn't ask too many questions. And considering that the guards and nobles of Tristain were on the lookout for a _male_ thief, I never considered that she might have been preparing to ransack the Academy." Old Osmond sighed wearily. "Her plan worked flawlessly."

It was then that Ezio remembered that while the headmaster was perhaps a stubborn old man convinced of his own superiority – and according to the servants' gossiping, a man with a lecherous streak a mile wide – he was still a human being, and the death of the students under his care must have hurt him far more than the Assassin could guess at. Especially because his getting duped had allowed Fouquet to even chance the attack on the Academy in the first place.

Not knowing what to say, Ezio simply remained silent as Colbert quietly thanked him, stepping away.

Osmond blinked, his eyes clearing again as he fixed Ezio with a sharp look. "What about the _other_ artefact in your possession, Monsieur Auditore?"

Ezio shifted. The old teacher was far too clever for his liking. "What about it?"

"Are you going to keep it?"

The Florentine scoffed. "Of course. It's mine, no?"

"...We thought it was one of the Founder's artefacts," Osmond explained after a moment. "To the unprepared, these objects can be very, very dangerous. And the power they can unleash can be... devastating, to say the least."

Ezio remembered Altair's memories of slaughtering dozens of Mongols using the powers of the Apple, turning them to madness and weakening their minds until they simply decided to just lie down and die. He remembered using it himself against the Borgia and their henchmen. And he remembered the torture he'd endured just today at Fouquet's hands.

Osmond noticed his expression. "You knew," he realized. "You knew about its power."

"Of course I did," Ezio muttered, reaching into his pouch and holding up the Apple of Eden, the golden orb lying heavy in his palm. "It was dangerous. Why else would I have killed so many men for it?"

Colbert, who still held the Staff, tensed at Ezio's words and looked at him with what could have been disgust, pity, or a mixture of both. Ezio himself couldn't tell.

"...Would you entrust it to us?" Osmond asked. Ezio stared at him with disbelief, and the old headmaster sighed and raised his hands in a placating manner. "I know we haven't been frank with you, but believe us that we never meant you any harm, Monsieur Auditore. We thought you were merely an uneducated commoner with an immeasurably powerful magical artefact in your possession. We thought it best to protect you – and anyone else you might encounter – by confiscating it and locking it away."

"Stealing, you mean," Ezio corrected coldly.

Osmond shrugged, not a trace of guilt clouding his features. "Call it what you will. It doesn't change the fact, however, that this artefact is dangerous. We can safeguard it for you."

Ezio mulled it over, and realized that he really had nowhere else to hide the Apple, just like the Staff. And although he could take it with him when he left the Academy, there was a chance that he might be killed, especially since he didn't know much of Halkeginia, and then anyone could just pick up the Apple and start wreaking havoc with it.

He had seen it happen once before, when Girolamo Savonarola had picked up the Apple after Ezio had been injured in his fight with the Orsi Brothers. Countless had died during the Carneval of the Vanities. Florence had burned, its people had rebelled, and countless of its citizens had been beaten to death in the streets, lynched, or were hanged when the authorities crushed the uprising in the most brutal manner possible.

Christina had died.

He breathed out, glaring at Osmond. "I will give it to you," he said harshly, "because I have no choice in the matter. But it is mine, _Messer_ Osmond." He leant forward, his voice cold and threatening. "I _will_ return and claim it, and should you lie or try to withhold it from me again, I will kill you and anyone else that gets in my way, be they students, teachers, or servants. And _then_ I will burn down your precious Academy around your corpse. Do we understand each other?"

Osmond didn't bat an eye. "Perfectly. You have my word that it will not leave the Vault."

Reluctantly, Ezio unslung a large pouch from his belt, dropped the Apple in it, and then handed it over to Colbert. The teacher threw him an appraising look as he accepted it, but otherwise said nothing.

"Well," Osmond sighed as he got to his feet once, supporting himself on his staff. "Thank the Founder that we have concluded this dreary business." He bowed deeply in the princess's direction, his expression grave. "I humbly beg your forgiveness for involving you in our dispute, Your Highness. Thank you all the same."

"Oh, you're quite welcome," Henrietta said cheerfully. "It's the duty of the royal house to keep the peace here in Tristain, isn't it?"

"May you have greater success than your late father, then," Osmond muttered as he walked past her. Henrietta's smile was suddenly pained, but Ezio focused his attention on the headmaster as the old man walked towards the door.

"What are you planning on doing now, _professore_?" he called out.

Osmond stopped and turned around, giving him a wry smile. "What am I planning, Monsieur Auditore?" He grunted, looking tired. "Well, a good two dozen of my students are dead, many more are injured, and it seems that I will have to write many letters to their parents and families to inform them of the facts. Many more commoners are dead, and even more injured, so I will have to organize healers and surgeons, not to mention call on priests and monks to supervise the burials. The city is destroyed, so we will have to pitch tents to house everyone. And considering that the Academy is more or less in ruins, I will have to send all my other students home until we can rebuild the school, which might take months." Old Osmond sighed. "And yet I also plan on praying to God and Brimir tonight, to thank them both."

Ezio couldn't help but be surprised. "Why?"

"Because no matter how horrible this day may seem now, it could have been far, far worse," the old mage said, smiling wryly. "Goodnight, Monsieur Auditore. May the Founder and His saints guide you."

And with that, the headmaster threw back the flap of the tent, disappearing outside. Ezio simply stared after him.

Professor Colbert shifted and cleared his throat, and every person in the room turned towards him. "Please don't think badly of Lord Osmond, Monsieur Auditore," he said quietly, not looking at Ezio. "He meant well."

Ezio's mouth twisted in a grimace. "So did many others."

The balding teacher chuckled, sounding half amused and half tired. "The road to hell, wasn't it?" He studied Ezio, his bespectacled eyes sympathetic. "I apologize for having stolen this from you," he said, holding up the pouch. "Even though I meant the best for everyone, it doesn't excuse my conduct."

And Ezio found that despite his annoyance and previous anger, he couldn't really stay angry with the man. He seemed genuinely repentant, and holding a grudge wouldn't help anyone. "You're forgiven," he said curtly, jutting his chin out at the wrapped objects. "What are you going to do with those?"

Colbert shrugged. "The Academy may be inhabitable now, but the Vault still stands."

Ezio frowned. "It wasn't destroyed?"

Colbert shook his head. "No, no. Fouquet used a key." He deposited the pouch in the crook of his arm, awkwardly reaching into his cloak with his free hand. "I managed to recover it from Fouquet's corpse she got somewhere. I thought it might interest you..."

He held out a bloodied leather bracer, and Ezio accepted the object. He recognized the hidden blade instantly. Its design was far cruder than his own weapons, but it seemed to work perfectly. And he had called it a key?

He looked up and saw Colbert watch him intently. He nodded, pocketing the blade. "Thank you, _professore_."

"Do you mind if I examine this strange artefact for a while?" Colbert asked as he held up the Apple's pouch, and although he still wore that apologetic look, Ezio could see that his eyes had lit up with the slightly manic curiosity that had defined Leonardo's entire being. "I never was allowed to study the Staff of Destruction, but with your permission—"

"Go ahead, _professore_," Ezio said, shrugging. "As long as you can keep it safe, I don't mind you examining it. Be careful, though," he warned. "It might be dangerous."

"I will be, Monsieur Auditore, don't worry," Colbert assured him gratefully. "I have studied magical artefacts before, and there are ways to protect oneself from harm. Now," he continued, walking over to the tent flap, "I'll deposit these in the Vault, and then help Sister Catherine with the injured. You should let a healer take a look at you, Monsieur Auditore."

Ezio frowned. "Why?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Monsieur Auditore," Henrietta fell in, smiling cheerfully as she poked him in the side, making him wince in sudden pain, "you look a frightful mess. You've broken a rib or two, haven't you?"

He glared at her as Colbert disappeared with a quiet laugh, but weak as he was and without his dagger at her throat, the princess seemed to have good reason not to be afraid of him. She turned to her bodyguard. "Agnès, do you mind getting my supplies?"

The scarred woman scowled. "Your Highness, he might be dangerous—"

"Oh, hush already," Henrietta dismissed her. "If Monsieur Auditore had wanted to kill me, he could have done so last night at his leisure."

Agnès's fingers clenched around the grip of her longsword. "Pardon?!" she snarled.

"Oh, we've met already," Henrietta said lightly as she grabbed her bodyguard's shoulders, turned her towards the entrance and gave her a light push. "I'll tell you later, alright?"

Her expression thunderous, Agnès nevertheless stepped through the flap, though she shot a glare at Ezio that promised death and misery to him should her charge come to any harm. Henrietta cheerfully pretended that she hadn't seen it.

"Louise!" Henrietta called out to her friend that stood awkwardly to the side. "Help me get Monsieur Auditore's armour off!"

And despite his protests that he could very well do it himself and that he didn't need a healer, he soon found himself stripped of his ancestor's armour piece by piece – Henrietta all business, Louise incredibly embarrassed, the two of them chatting all the while about anything and nothing – and forced to sit on a stone stool that Henrietta had deftly conjured from the ground.

"Well, that looks unhealthy," Henrietta muttered when they finally got him to take his shirt off. There were several deep cuts lacerating his back, and there were splinters, most of them small, but others up to an inch long and embedded quite deeply in his shoulders and arms. "How did you get those?"

"I fell through a house," Ezio said laconically. "It didn't agree with me." He hissed when she touched one of the cuts.

"Those injuries might hurt a lot, but they're not actually dangerous if treated," Henrietta muttered, her manner all business as she examined them. Ezio heard the flap of the tent snap back. "Ah, well done, Agnès. A knife and a pair of tweezers, please."

The bodyguard silently handed them over and sat down on Osmond's desk a moment later, scowling at Ezio with her sword lying across her knees. As Henrietta cut into his wound and dug pieces of wood, Ezio tried to distract himself by studying the woman in front of him.

She was pretty, in a way, though her uniform didn't do her any favours. But then again, uniforms weren't supposed to be flattering, so the leather armour and heavy Musketeer's cloak could be excused. Agnès would have been considered beautiful, in an Amazonian way, if she had not been scarred. It really was an ugly wound, the leathery scar tissue reaching out from the collar of her uniform across her jaw line of one side of her face, marring it.

"What are _you_ looking at?" she snapped at him.

Ezio looked her in the eyes and found them quite pretty, in a cold way. Green. A pretty colour. He smiled. "Just wondering what kind of extraordinary woman would command the guards of the royal heir," he said, trying to put as much charm as he could into his smile.

Agnès scoffed contemptuously, utterly unimpressed. "The kind that would cut you from shoulder to hip if you even thought of hurting Her Highness," she said bluntly, her fingers drumming on the hilt of her sword.

"Agnès, be nice," Henrietta chided, and Ezio hissed again as a bloody splinter was torn out from his shoulder. "He did us all a favour by killing Fouquet, you know."

"Hah!" Agnès said, rolling her eyes, but she said nothing more.

"You're lucky I ran across Kirche," Louise muttered as she handed Henrietta a small bottle of spirits and a handkerchief, glaring at the scowling Musketeer. "_She_ refused to help me find you."

Agnès shrugged, completely unrepentant. "I had better things to do than chasing after a noble's pet. Don't worry, your familiar looks pretty alive to me."

Ezio took a harsh breath as Henrietta cleaned his wounds with the sharp alcohol, fixing the Musketeer with a glare of his own. "I'm no one's pet, _signora_."

"And yet there you were, chasing after a mage when you didn't have to," Agnès retorted. "I've no time for fools trying to kill themselves."

Ezio grinned at her, finding that he enjoyed this far more than he really should have. "Your princess seems to think the opposite. And besides," he continued, wincing slightly when Henrietta dragged the last bit of jagged wood from his flesh, "no one ordered me to chase after Fouquet."

Agnès raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why did you do it, then?" she challenged.

"Why did you refuse to go after me?"

The Musketeer blinked at the sudden question. "Because I had to protect my princess," she answered immediately.

"And why did you protect your princess?"

"Someone had to do it."

Ezio grinned at her. "There you have the answer to your question, then."

Agnès scowled at him, though the fingers around the hilt of her sword relaxed, if only slightly.

"Louise, could you give me the needle and thread, please?" Henrietta asked quietly. Her friend handed them over silently, still looking rather put out. Apparently, she found it difficult to forgive Agnès like Ezio had already done.

The Assassin watched her out of the corner of his eye, amused. Agnès may have been cold-blooded, but she had done nothing wrong. Admittedly, he had still had seen the world in black and white when he had been Louise's age, though that had changed with time.

He hissed again as the sharp needle, heated in a candle flame, stabbed through the flab of injured skin. Henrietta started closing the largest cuts quickly and methodically, her hand steady and assured.

"You're skilled at this," Ezio bit out, trying to distract himself from the pain by talking.

"I help out at the hospices in the capital," Henrietta said quietly. "It's... enjoyable, really. It gets me away from the palace."

"And exposes you to assassins," Agnès added testily.

The next stab of the needle bit slightly deeper than before, and Ezio winced. Henrietta brushed her hand against his back in silent apology, and he relaxed against her touch. _She has soft hands_, he thought idly.

"Agnès," Henrietta said quietly, her voice sounding tired, "we've argued about this time and again. I _don't_ want to be cooped up behind castle walls, no matter how safe it would be."

"That's foolish," Agnès retorted, scowling. "You may be the dauphine, but there are people in the capital that would still hurt you, despite all your guards and influence. In fact, some will attack you _because_ of it. You will help no one by getting killed and plunging the kingdom into a struggle of succession."

"How _dare_ you speak to Her Highness like that?!" Louise finally exploded. She had leapt to her feet, looking every inch the fury her temper made her out to be. "She's the Princess of Tristain! The royal heir! Didn't you see those crowds today?! The people _love_ her! No true Tristainian would even _think_ of harming a hair on her head!"

Agnès threw a cool look at her, her hand never leaving her sword. "Be quiet, child. The adults are talking."

The youngest Vallière started on her, snarling. "Why, you—"

"Louise, please stop," Henrietta said quietly.

Louise threw her a dismayed look. "Your Highness—"

"And stop that courtly nonsense," she interrupted, smiling. "Can't you call me by my name, like you used to all those years ago?"

"Henr— Hen— Hnrgh—"

Ezio smirked, finding Louise's look of embarrassment as she tried and failed to do just that incredibly amusing, until she scowled at him and he schooled his face into an expression of neutrality. Still, he was sure that she had seen it, considering she kept glaring at him.

Henrietta just laughed. "Well, we'll just have to work on that," she said, giggling. "Father can't really forbid me from seeing you anymore now that he's no longer with us, Founder guide him." She addressed her bodyguard, her voice growing stern. "And while I appreciate your efforts to protect me, Agnès, I can't just stop helping people because it _might_ be dangerous. How could I still be _me_, otherwise?"

Agnès huffed in annoyance, though a small smile tugged up at the corner of her mouth. "I understand, Your Highness," she muttered, her expression changing to tired weariness, "but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"I'm sorry, Agnès," Henrietta said ruefully. "I know I'm selfish, but... Ah, no matter. Now, put that sword of yours away. We're all friends here, and I don't think Monsieur Auditore is going to suddenly turn into a savage beast and maul us all."

"I am sitting here in my underwear," Ezio reminded her drily. "If I wanted to kill someone, I would have picked an earlier time when I still had my weapons on hand. And when I was wearing trousers."

"Oh, we seem to have foiled your nefarious plot," Henrietta teased, laughing. "Now," she continued, her voice growing serious, "I am going to heal your cuts, Monsieur Auditore. Considering you have never experienced this before, be warned – it feels rather strange."

"Alas, you three lovely maidens take away my innocence," Ezio said with a hand across his bare chest, pretending to faint. Henrietta just laughed, Louise went an interesting shade of red as she spluttered in embarrassment, and Agnès just rolled her eyes as she finally sheathed her sword.

Henrietta whispered in a strange dialect of French he barely understood, her hand trailing along just one of the many cuts. "_Saint de l'eau, saint de pureté, accorde-nous ton pouvoir pour laver les plaies de ce brave homme._"

Ezio felt a small, tingling sensation across his back, like rain trickling down his collar, and he suddenly the cut Henrietta was touching knit itself back together. It was an eerie feeling, as if his body was acting on its own, as if something was wriggling under his skin and in his wound. He forced himself to sit down and endure it. A moment later, the strange feeling vanished, the skin feeling as if it had already healed for three weeks.

Henrietta repeated the strange phrase that sounded like a prayer for the largest cuts, the magic healing his wounds while the smaller cuts disappeared altogether under her touch. On further inspection, Henrietta quickly found which of his ribs were broken, adjusting them with careful tugs of her magic until they were properly aligned, speeding up their healing with small splashes of water that tickled as they sunk through his skin.

She also forced him to swallow a disgusting potion that would apparently make the cracked bones fuse together at a faster pace, though Ezio found that part decidedly less pleasant than her delicate fingers roaming around his torso and bruised arms.

_I am a bad, bad person_, he thought with a small chuckle.

"Are you quite done?" Agnès snapped, and he looked up to see her glaring at him. Apparently, the bodyguard was sharp-eyed enough to spot that he didn't mind the extra benefit the healing provided. He just gave her one of his charming smiles, though it didn't budge her one inch.

Well, Christina hadn't been too impressed either.

"Nearly done," Henrietta answered after lifting his chin, smearing some salve from her bag on his bruised throat. "There's only this left..."

She lightly touched his bloodied lip, and Ezio winced at the deep cut that slashed through both upper and lower lip across the corner of his mouth. He hadn't noticed it when Fouquet had hit him there, but now that he knew it was there, the cut hurt like hell.

"Looks worse than it is," Henrietta muttered reassuringly, though it wasn't exactly clear who she was addressing; him, herself, or a worried Louise. "Wounds to the lip always bleed a lot."

She raised her wand, already starting to chant under her breath, but Ezio stopped her with a small smile. "_Mille, mille grazie, vostra altezza_, but that won't be necessary. I think I'll keep this one."

"Why?" Henrietta asked, frowning in confusion. In her experience, patients rarely appreciated their faces getting scarred.

Ezio drew a finger across the cut, its tip coming away a dark red. He smirked. "A reminder. And besides," he added, cracking a smile at the princess, "my pretty face could use some more scars. A more roguish look, no?"

"Well," Henrietta said promptly, hiding her bewilderment well, "at least let me clean it up for you—"

"I'll do that!" Louise interrupted, though she looked horrified when she realized that she had interrupted her beloved princess. "I didn't mean—" she spluttered.

Henrietta just giggled and held out the bloodied cloth to her, stepping away with an amused smile. And soon Louise found herself dabbing experimentally at Ezio's chin, having no idea how to really clean a wound.

She glared at him. "Stop grinning, you smarmy git."

The other corner of Ezio's mouth threatened to climb up, but he hid it well. "I would never dream of mocking my mistress," he said sincerely, though the effect was ruined by his black eyes dancing with mischief.

"Stop it!" Louise snapped as she shoved the bloodied cloth into his face, trying to wipe that smile off his face. For the first time, Ezio realized that she wasn't just angry, but on the verge of crying too. "Remember that the Familiar contract is a bond between the two of us?! You're supposed to protect me, and I'm supposed to protect you!" She bulled on before he could open his mouth to say a word. "And what happened just today? You nearly got _killed_, Ezio, right before my eyes! And I was damn well _useless_!"

Ezio's look of consternation was replaced by one of perplexity. "_Aspetta un momento!_ _That's_ what's bothering you?"

"Yes!" she yelled right in his face, blinking quickly and wiping her sleeves across her eyes, glaring angrily. "And then you run right after her, even though you're injured. It's as if you're trying to get yourself killed! _Shouldn't_ it bother me, damn it!?"

For a moment, Ezio just sat there dumbly, at a loss for words and blinking incredulously at the girl that looked as if she was just about to break down. He then slowly reached out, laying a hand on her shoulder and speaking slowly and carefully. "I'm not leaving you, _piccina_."

Louise still glared at him, and he sighed, shooting a helpless glance at a worried Henrietta. "I have fought all my life, Louise," he said quietly, thumbing her cheek and making her look at him. "My entire life, I have spent it fighting, killing, and surmounting such great odds that you would call me a liar if I told you."

He smiled at her, the genuine kindness in the gesture unmarred by the blood on his face. "And I have always come back. I fought Fouquet today, and I won. I came back to you, no?"

"And you don't need to worry about being useless," Henrietta chimed in when Ezio shot a glance at her, nudging her into action. She stepped forward, comforting Louise with a small hug. "You destroyed Fouquet's golem, didn't you? You saved Ezio."

"By dropping him two hundred feet in freefall," the tiny mage replied archly, sniveling slightly.

Ezio shrugged, smirking slightly. "I survived. And you came to find me, all the way out in the Darkwoods. I might not have made it back without you, you know," he added as an afterthought when he got to his feet, stretching his arms and groaning slightly. This whole magic business was just _bizarre_, no matter how many times he saw it in action..

Louise blinked up at him, suddenly unsure. "Really?"

Well, to be honest, Ezio would have probably found his way back easily enough, but the strange forest had made an impression on him. And considering that he had only a few vague ideas of the creatures inhabiting it, all of them involving strange magic, a gut feeling telling him to leave as quickly as possible, and far more teeth than he was comfortable with, and he was quick to admit that he was quite glad that he didn't have to trek back to the Academy while injured, weakened, and alone. Predators liked bleeding prey. Ezio would know. He was one of them, after all.

"Of course," he answered, tapping her cheek with a smile. "Now, I would suggest you leave for a moment."

Louise frowned at him, puzzled. "Why would I leave?"

"I never knew you would like watching me dress, Louise," he said drily. "You should have told me sooner."

A moment later, he raised his arms to protect his bruised chest, laughing as Louise pummeled him, her face red with embarrassment. "Ezio! Don't say stuff like that in front of the princess, damn it!"

"No swearing, _piccina_!" he chided with a grin, and Louise clapped her eyes over her mouth, throwing a horrified look at Henrietta. The princess in question, however, seemed more amused than anything else.

"Well, it seems to never get boring around you two," she said, trying to hide her giggles with a hand – which, of course, only served to fluster Louise even more.

"Your Highness!" the small Vallière wailed piteously.

"Oh, stop it already!" Henrietta said again, frowning slightly as she began packing her bag of medicine. "I'm going to tell you again and again that you can call me by my name, Louise. Decorum is for the royal court."

A small grin suddenly grew on her face, and she quickly linked her arm with that of her flustered friend. "Let me propose something: there's still quite a lot of injured in the hospital here, and you'll accompany me while I help the other healers. If you can't call me Henrietta by the end of the day… hmm," she said quietly, tapping her chin. "What would be appropriate stakes? That's right, you'll owe me a favour, anything I ask!"

And then she happily dragged Louise out, the small girl utterly helpless in her grip. She threw Ezio a desperate look, silently pleading for help, but he just smiled and waved as the two friends disappeared through the tent flap.

He suddenly realized that Agnès hadn't left the tent and that she was still glaring at him. The Assassin chuckled as he went over to pick up his clothes. "Those two seem to get along well."

"I wouldn't know," the Musketeer said coolly. "I wasn't part of Her Highness's retinue when the two met."

"…If you have anything against me, _signorina_," Ezio said amiably as he pulled his shirt over his head, "don't hesitate to tell me." He turned around, hands open and smiling politely. "I promise that I won't be offended. Well, not much, at least."

For a moment, Agnès seemed taken aback, though her expression was quickly replaced by a scowl. "It's not that simple."

"And why is that, _per favore_?"

The Musketeer studied him. Though her hand wasn't on the hilt of her sword anymore, she still looked tense. "You're dangerous," she finally said. "You're a commoner capable of killing mages, which would be reason enough for me to be worried. But the thing is that I know absolutely _nothing_ about you. Where you come from, what your plans are," and here she crossed her arms over her uniform, glaring at him, "or whether you are a danger to my princess or not."

"…You take your duty very seriously, don't you?"

"I'd lay my life down for Her Highness," Agnès swore. "But still, I prefer eliminating threats before they appear. Are you a threat, Monsieur Auditore?" she asked. The title of address sounded mocking, coming from her, though she waited for his answer like a hawk.

Ezio laughed quietly to himself as he pulled on his trousers. "Not yet," he answered as he fastened his belt. He reached out for Altair's sword lying on the ground, only to have Agnès's heavy riding boot slam down, pinning it.

He looked up to see her stare down impassibly at him. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Ezio shrugged. He was confident enough in his skills to not be intimidated by a single enemy. "I honestly don't know whether I am a threat or not," he answered. "But right now? I'm not a threat to you. And certainly not to your princess. She's a kind soul."

Agnès grunted, displeased, but nevertheless stepped away, allowing him to pick up his sword. Ezio picked up the breastplate scattered around the other pieces of armour lying on the floor, running his fingers over the black metal. In the dim light, he could make out faint cracks running through it.

He frowned, examining the other pieces of armour fastidiously. While it had always protected him well from swords and maces, it seemed that magic was far stronger than a simple blade or metal weight. The fall from the golem had probably done it no favours, either. He would have to have it repaired, but where?

"Is it broken?" Agnès interrupted his thoughts, picking up an shin guard and examining it.

Ezio shrugged. "Not yet."

Agnès sighed. "Considering you killed Fouquet…" She trailed off, thinking as she considered Ezio's armour. "Is that Elvish make?" she asked, tapping a knuckle against it.

The Assassin raised an eyebrow. "Not really. Why?"

"I think it is," Agnès said aloud, weighing the piece of armour in her hand. "It's far too light to be made of ordinary steel… There's a blacksmith called Théoleyre in the capital," she said, her manner all business again as she shoved the shin guard into Ezio's arms. "Tell him you I sent you. Until then…"

She turned on her heel, marching briskly towards the tent flap. "Agnès!" Ezio called out. The Musketeer looked at him over her shoulder, green eyes narrowed at him.

"Fouquet didn't act alone," Ezio said seriously before the soldier would simply dismiss him. "She knew of the Staff thanks to a group called 'Reconquista'. They were the ones who ordered the theft."

"…Is that so?" Agnès studied him intently for a moment and then reached for her belt, freeing a small pouch and throwing it at him. Ezio caught it, confused.

"It's not Fouquet's bounty," he heard Agnès speak as he opened it and saw a good number of golden coins. "But a few écus will get you a long way – if you don't spend them foolishly, that is. You don't seem like a fool to me, Ezio Auditore." He looked up, only to see her pause at the tent flap. "You have my thanks."

And a moment later, she was gone, the riding cloak of her Musketeer uniform trailing behind her.

Ezio smiled. She may not like him very much, but it seemed that Agnès did have a sense of honour. That was a good thing, at least, even if it occasionally could limit one's options.

Then his smile faded as he remembered the day's events – the attack, the Papal Staff, the strange voices, Desmond, and that man called Roberto that Fouquet asked him to talk to…

Ezio gathered up his armour and weapons, sighing. Even in the afterlife, it seemed, his work never really ended.

…

And… cut! That's the Fouquet arc done. Next up: Welcome to the big city!

This was the last story arc where I follow the canon storyline of Zero no Tsukaima, or rather what's left of it, now that the elements from the Assassin's Creed universe come into play. Now, the rest of the story is free game, and there's just so much stuff to do, both in real life and when it comes to writing…

I hoped you liked this overly long chapter. If you did (or didn't, for that matter – constructive criticism is appreciated), please leave me a review, especially now that our dear host website has made it so easy for guests and account holders alike. I would really appreciate what you thought.

Considering that so many of you asked for translations to the foreign phrases I use in this story, I went to the trouble of writing translations for each of them, in the chronological order of their appearance in this story. I also added some small explanations to each, in the hope that you believe me that I'm not just making stuff up, and perhaps so you can learn something useful from reading fanfiction.

Hey, I learned English from reading _Harry Potter_. It might happen.

A great thanks to **_Shadenight123_**, who helped me with the Italian in this story. Mille grazie, maestro. Your aid was invaluable.

...

TRANSLATIONS OF FOREIGN PHRASES:

**_Figlio di puttana... Stupidi mostri di pietra e irritanti nobili e tetti di paglia... Come diamine sono riuscito a soppravvivere a tutto questo!?_**— "Son of a bitch... Stupid stone monsters and annoying nobles and stupid roof tiles... How the hell did I manage to survive all of this?!" Italian. Translated from English by Shadenight123. Many thanks.

**_Bastardo._** — "Bastard." Italian. Only used on men. _Very_ insulting, and considering that mothers are sacred to Italian men, be very, _very_ careful about who you use this on. In fact, don't use it at all.

**_Bene!_** — "Alright!" or "Okay!" Italian.

**_Merda._** — "Shit." Italian.

**_Les Forêts Obscures._** — "The Dark Forests." French. A location name I made up. Admittedly, it doesn't mean much besides providing authenticity, but hey.

**_Requiescat en pace._** — "Rest in peace." Latin. To all of you who don't know, this is what Ezio tells every single one of his (important) victims. A little acknowledgement, if you will, that he doesn't hold a grudge, no matter what they may have done.

**_Assurdo._** — "Ridiculous." Italian.

**_Mille grazie._** — Literally "A thousand thanks," though in context it means something more along the lines of "Thank you very much." Italian.

**_Signorina. _**— "Miss." Italian. A respectful form of address used for young, unmarried women, which can be followed by the family name.

**_Herr _**[insert name here] — "Mister [insert name here]". German. A form of address used when talking to adult men, married and unmarried, and always followed by the family name of the addressee.

**_Cazzo._** — Literally means "dick" or "cock", though Italians use it more like a strong swear word, its sense being more along the lines of "Fuck!" Italian. Do _not_ use this in polite company.

**_Ragazzo._** — "Boy." Italian. A form of address used for young children, though it can come across as belittling or rude when used against older youths or men. Which is why Ezio uses it against Guiche.

**_Stupido._**— "Stupid." Italian. A common enough insult for anything and anyone.

**_Sei uns gnädig, Gott, sei uns nahe. Sei uns sehr nahe, jetzt, da wir trauern…_** — "Be lenient to us, God, stay close to us. Stay close to us, now that we grieve…" German. Extract from a Christian prayer titled "Totengebet – Gott, sei uns nahe" to be recited at the sudden death of a loved one or acquaintance. The original author of the prayer is anonymous/unknown.

**_Vero?_** — "Right?" Italian.

**_Piccina._** — "Little one." Italian. A term of endearment used when addressing young girls. Considering that Ezio is in his sixties, this pretty much could apply to any woman he meets, but he seems to have taken a shine to Louise and Tabitha.

**_Professore!_** — "Professor!" Italian. A title used when addressing teachers, showing great respect for the person or the position.

**_Monsieur._** — "Mister." French. A form of address used when talking to married and unmarried men. It can be followed by the addressee's family name, but it doesn't have to be.

**_Per favore?_** — "Please?" Italian.

**_Per cortesia._** — A more polite/courteous form of "Please." Can be translated as "if you please." Italian.

**_Mademoiselle. _**— "Miss." French. A respectful form of address used when talking to a young, unmarried woman. Falling out of favour these days, as some in modern society considers it rather sexist, but it was common courtesy to use until very recently.

**_Esattamente._** — "Exactly." Italian.

**_Vostra altezza._** — "Your Highness." Italian. A _very_ polite and respectful form of address used when addressing persons belonging to the high nobility, but that aren't the king or queen. This applies to princes/princesses, dukes/duchesses, and ministers of the royal cabinet.

**_Messere._** — "Mister." Italian. A form of address for a married or unmarried man. It can be followed by the addressee's family name, but it doesn't have to be. An archaic form of address, it would have been common in Ezio's time, but is no longer used in modern Italy.

**_Saint de l'eau, saint de pureté, accorde-nous ton pouvoir pour laver les plaies de ce brave homme._**— "Saint of water, saint of purity, grant us your power to clean the wounds of this brave man." French. Something I made up on the spot. Definitely sounds better in French than when translated to English. French is cool like that.

_**Aspetta un momento.**_— "Wait a moment!" Italian.

…

P.S.: I'm currently trying to learn Spanish. Si hay algunos lectores que quieren escribir commentarios en Espanol, sería muy obrigado. ¡Muchas gracias!

…

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (August 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	8. Chapter VIII – Intermezzo

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

…

Good day or good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the eighth chapter of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_!

Three hundred reviews. I managed to break the three-hundred-review-barrier with the first story I ever published on this website. Wow. Thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart to all those who reviewed, and to the thousands of other readers who silently read this far.

You have no idea how happy all of you have made me. I'll do my very best to keep entertaining you with this stories, the others I'm working on, and the ones I will write in the future. You're a great audience, because you're supportive, but also because you don't let me get away with all of my mistakes, or question what I'm writing. Thank you.

Now, about the chapter… Erm. Oh dear. Well, it's short.

I know what you're about to say once you're done reading through this, ladies and gentlemen: filler chapter. And unfortunately, you'd be right. I have a good reason for that, though, and it's called 'Writer's Block.' Such an innocent expression, yet so very fitting. You're _blocked_, with no idea what to do. A very unsettling feeling, to be sure. And I had to start studying again, _en force_.

I was unsure how to make the transition from Academy to the city of Tristain and have it fit into the story. Honestly, I had no bloody clue – my mind was like a blank page. So I decided to write other things (some of you will perhaps have noticed the suspicious updates to my other stories) in an effort to clear it, but it didn't really work.

So I decided to just start writing, to get it over and done with, basically. Perhaps not the best attitude when you're trying to write well, but I did what I could. So there's some humour where I make fun of Guiche, some exposition on Louise's family, some warm friendship moments between Ezio and Louise, some conversation… it wasn't exactly _pointless_, per se, but it's still inferior to what I _wanted_ to write. Very frustrating.

In the end, I decided to publish what I had instead of having you wait for another month until I had the next story arc properly planned out and written. It may be filler, but if nothing else, I think it's well-written filler. That's for you to decide, though.

Still, I hope that you liked this small interlude – the title of the chapter is _incredibly_ fitting, funnily enough – despite its nature as a stop-gap and being slightly shorter than my usual fare. If you liked it, thank you for being so patient and understanding. If you disliked anything about it, feel free to tell me.

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and whether you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

…

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter VIII – Intermezzo**

…

The week after Fouquet's attack was one of the busiest of Louise's life.

One of the reasons for it was that for the first three days after the attack, the commoners and nobles were busy burying the dead. It was a long-established tradition for Brimir's faithful to be buried within three days of their death or sooner, and commoners and nobles alike found themselves digging graves and attending impromptu services to grieve for their dead.

"Keep my soul in peace near you, Lord."

The monk leading the ceremony bowed his head as he led the small group surrounding the shallow grave, lifting the small bell in his hand and ringing it once, the bright clear sound sounding clearly across the field. It was just outside the Academy walls, and had been hastily converted to be the city's new graveyard. The other one was already crowded.

"When I cry for you, Lord, answer me, Lord, my eternal justice!"

The monk rang his bell again as Louise watched a few burly commoners carefully lower the crudely-made casket into the ground. As soon as it reached the bottom, they quickly doffed their caps, bowing their heads.

_Eternal justice_, Louise thought. There hadn't been any justice to Katie's death, had there? She shuddered quietly. _It could have easily been me. _

In fact, she was sure that if Agnès and Henrietta hadn't jumped to protect her, _she_ would have been the one to lie under a boulder, crushed and nearly unrecognizable. Louise threw a quick glance at the small group assembled around the hole in the ground. She wondered if anyone would have attended her funeral.

"You who saves me from my peril," the monk continued solemnly, "Take pity on me, and listen to my prayer."

Kirche and Tabitha were there, standing slightly off from the main gaggle of Katie's friends that tried vainly to support each other in their grief. For once, the small bookworm held no tome or scroll in her hand, instead bowing her head and stoically studying the casket below. The Germanian looked unusually gloomy without her usual teasing smile on her lips, as if she had become an entirely different person.

Guiche and Montmorency were there as well, standing very close to each other as they awkwardly held hands. Both said nothing as they listened to the monk's psalm. Montmorency looked tired and weary, probably from helping tirelessly in the hospital during the last three days, while Guiche looked as if a breeze could knock him over, shivering as he stood there, still bandaged and recovering. His face was blank and he looked lost, as if he didn't really know what to say or do.

"Many of us asked: 'Founder, who will bring us happiness?'"

That was a good question, actually. She had seen far too little happiness these last few days. Too many burials.

She glanced to her right, and saw Ezio stand silently by her side, eagle-beaked hood drawn over his eyes. Unlike the others, he hadn't bowed his head and folded his hands in prayer. Rather, his arms were crossed as he silently watched the proceedings.

Ezio noticed her glance and gave her a small crooked smile. The expression looked a bit strange on him, now, considering the thickly growing scab on the corner of his mouth, but it fit him, for some reason she couldn't quite understand. He looked more comfortable with the ugly wound than without it.

The monk raised his arms wide, his expression grave. "For Catherine-Isabelle de Gayarre, who has found the peace of the Lord; Lord, we pray to thee."

"Lord in Heaven, listen to our prayer," they mumbled in answer.

"Catherine," the monk continued solemnly, "you will remain in our memory, your smile and your fortitude will accompany us forever; for that, Lord, we pray to thee."

"Lord in Heaven, listen to our prayer."

Louise quietly scoffed to herself. While the monk may have meant well, he had never _known_ Katie. She had never been called 'Catherine' by anyone in school, whether teacher or student. Hearing these kind words out of the monk's mouth when he had never known her as anything other than a corpse to be buried was… unsettling, for lack of a better word.

_But then again_, Louise reflected, _I never really knew her either, did I? She was always just… there. Along with all the others. _

In a way, this was a horrible way for Katie's life to be commemorated – with the exception of a few of her friends from school, no one here really knew Katie, and her family had been unable to visit the Academy in time for her funeral, their estates being too far away for a fast trip to the Academy. Perhaps it was for the best: they would remember their daughter and sister as the pretty girl she had been in life, instead of the crushed corpse she had become.

Louise huffed out a humourless laugh. Katie would have to accept the Zero at her funeral, as measly and non-existent a friend as she may have been to her.

"For that the light of hope may break through the darkness of our sorrow, Lord, we pray to thee."

"Lord in Heaven, listen to our prayer."

"Founder, you who led us through the deserted lands, you who forged a path for us when we were lost, you who gave us hope when there was none, you who protected us when we were weak, please take this young soul under your wing and lead her to the peace and rest that she deserves, in His merciful presence and His glory. For that, Lord, we pray to thee."

"Lord in Heaven, listen to our prayer."

"Amen."

"Amen," Louise whispered. To her, the word seemed like a final pronouncement – it meant that Katie was gone now, never to return.

It was anticlimactic, really. She had expected death to be different. More meaningful.

A moment later, the monk lowered his arms and nodded to his helpers. The men put their caps back on, grabbed their shovels and dutifully began filling up the hole in the ground. Two minutes later, there was only a rectangular patch of dark, upturned earth amongst the green grass and a small cross at its head that indicated the presence of a grave. The monk had already left, moving over to the next group of mourners. He still had work to do.

Louise, however, hadn't moved from her place, studying the wooden cross with Katie's full, unfitting name on it. It had rained last night, and the earth smelled fresh and muddied, clogging her nose. She couldn't help but wonder whether her grave would look similar.

She heard Ezio shift beside her, the soft hiss of boots on wet grass and the creak of leather as he unfolded his arms. "_Piccina_," he muttered. "We should go."

"...Do you think anyone will visit my funeral?" she asked bluntly. She snapped her mouth shut immediately afterwards, wondering what had possessed her to ask that question.

Ezio chuckled to himself, clapping a large hand on her shoulder. "That's not a question you should ask, Louise," he chided. "You're far too young for it."

"So was Katie," Louise bit out, glaring at him.

His smile faded, but his black eyes never lost their warmth. "True," he conceded. "And so was I, when my parents and brothers died."

"Really?" she asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "What did you do?"

"I learned to ask myself a different question, long after they were gone." He smirked at her. "It was this: do I regret anything that I have done in my life?"

"Well, do you?"

"Many things," he admitted. "Some large, some small. But I lived my life well." He laughed, thumbing her cheek in a gesture that reminded her of an older uncle teasing his favourite niece. "Well, you gave me a second one, didn't you? Let's see if I'll regret anything this time." He patted her cheek, making her scowl, but then he just turned around with an amused smirk and marched back towards the Academy.

"H-hey! Don't you just walk away from me like that!" she yelled, storming off after him.

He just laughed out loud, grinning at her over his shoulder and waving. "_Andiamo_, Louise! There's still work to be done!"

Louise marched after him, berating him for his familiarity while he poked fun at her, but for some reason, the world didn't feel quite as dreary as just a moment ago.

And Ezio had a point. There was, indeed, still work to be done.

…

The first three days after Academy City burned down had been incredibly tiring, even for someone with as high a tolerance for fatigue and pain as Ezio. Along with dozens of other mages, students, and commoners, he had entered the burned-out city to comb the ruins for anyone that might have been left alive or merely wounded. Unsurprisingly, it was a wasted effort – the fire, abnormal heat, and noxious fumes had killed anyone that hadn't already escaped the city's walls.

A wet handkerchief wrapped around his mouth and nose, Ezio walked along the city's streets. There were a few people lying still in the streets, trampled in the stampede as people had tried to escape, and as soon as they entered the burned-down districts of the town, they were only able to find charred bodies, their limbs twisted in grotesque ways as the incredible heat had forced the humidity from their bodies like a wrung towel. Most of them were unrecognizable.

In a way, Ezio reflected, the ones that had died at the hospital were lucky. They would be buried under their own name, not in a mass grave.

Unsurprisingly, the main Academy building had fared best against the fire. Colbert had explained that the Academy walls themselves had been imbued with numerous spells to make them near indestructible, and they had successfully held off the flames.

However, that didn't mean the Academy had escaped unscathed. Fouquet's golem had destroyed one side of the main nave, the centuries-old façade with all its beautiful statues, arches, and gargoyles now nothing more than a tapestry of holes large and small. The Vestri Court was littered with crushed bodies, and Ezio, Louise, and the teachers and commoners spent their time sifting through the rubble to find whoever they still could. Some of the bodies were still recognizable, others weren't.

After only a few moments of doing this, Louise got up, walked to the side, and unceremoniously threw up. Ezio nearly followed her until he saw her sway back to her feet and return, teeth gritted, to help him lift a rock from a prone, unmoving figure. He just smiled faintly to himself, not saying anything.

The Academy's dormitories had been damaged as well, but lightly so, if only because Fouquet had attacked from the main nave's other side. At first, Ezio expected Louise to return there to sleep, but she briskly packed her bags and asked him to scrounge up a tent for them. Soon, they were camped out on the fields outside the city's walls, along with everyone else. When Ezio asked his little mistress why, she scowled and said that it would be easier to help someone if they were closer. He never mentioned it again.

After three days of hard, unrelenting work, the streets and courtyard of the Academy had been cleared of bodies and the greatest rubble, and once the funerals were over, people began to retrieve everything of use and worth from their destroyed homes. Numerous caravans of supplies arrived in the next few days, sent by the grieving parents of the dead students and those nobles who simply wished to help, bringing food, building materials, and workmen to rebuild the Academy while healers rushed from the capital and surrounding monasteries to help the wounded.

Henrietta had had no other choice but to return to the capital the day after the attack – her ill mother and station had demanded it – but she had promised all the assistance the Royal House of Tristain could offer. It arrived in the form in a squadron of Griffin Knights that took to the task of hunting down bandits and orcs in the countryside with bloodthirsty enthusiasm. Ezio watched the great creatures as they flew about in the sky above, fascinated.

Once the repairs were underway, the dead buried, and the recovering wounded settled, Louise realized that she had nothing to do. Classes had been summarily cancelled until further notice by Old Osmond, and rumours flew around the camp that Osmond would close down the Academy for a few months until it was serviceable again.

And so here Ezio was, standing in a field outside the encampment and watching carefully as Guiche was driven to the ground by the point of a wooden stick slamming into his diaphragm. He shook his head as the teen collapsed bonelessly, heaving for breath, his instructor sighing in exasperation. "Get up, Ser Gramont!" he called out sternly.

The only answer he received was an unintelligible gargle, and Ezio rolled his eyes, marching over and hauling the blond noble to his feet by his uniform's collar. "Oh, get used to it," he said flatly, no sympathy in his voice. "You had far too many openings there – if she had wanted to, Louise could have taken your eye, or worse."

"Really?" Louise asked, doubt in her voice as she examined her stance. "I only did the first thing that came to mind."

"And it was the right thing to so," he praised her, shooting her a quick grin. "A well-done finishing blow. Still sloppy, but it'll kill anyone that doesn't know his way around a sword. Your instincts are improving."

"What… am I… doing wrong?" the youth wheezed, trying hard not to sway where he stood. His eyes, however, hadn't lost any of their fierce determination.

"You're too rooted," Ezio chastised him, picking up Guiche's training sword and handing it to him, correcting his stance. "A swordsman does _not_ take blows head on. He is always on the move, evading, parrying, countering his foe's attacks, all until he can land a finishing blow. If you stand as hard as a rock, someone is going to break through sooner or later, even if it's only a lucky blow.

"Louise!" he ordered, assuming his own stance, blade raised in a horizontal guard and light on his feet. "Attack me!"

Louise groaned, but did as she was asked, charging him with a lunge and a yell. Ezio had already leapt backwards, easily evading the next few blows with swift footwork. He didn't even raise his own training sword until he beat the flat of the wooden stick against her knee in a sudden counter, driving her to the ground.

"See?" he lectured a gaping Guiche. "I didn't even use my sword to evade her attacks. Think of water. _Flow_ around the enemy instead of having him crash into you. When you face a rockslide, you don't brave it out – you get out of its way."

Louise's eyebrow twitched as she got back on her feet, wobbling. "Ezio, do you _enjoy_ beating me to a pulp? I just happen to be curious."

"No, _piccina_," he answered with an easy grin, patting her cheek affectionately. "But you've been beating Ser Gramont into a lovely blue shade of bruises during all of our recent training sessions. Turnaround is fair play, no? Now!" he said loudly, stepping back. "Another bout!"

Louise grinned as she assumed the stance Ezio had taught, smiling sweetly at Guiche. "Actually, I think I know why you do it – it's fun hitting him, isn't it?"

Guiche's face fell as he pointed his training sword at her. "How harsh! Your words wound me, Vallière!"

"Begin!" Ezio called out, and Guiche yelped as Louise charged, ducking under a swing that would have easily crushed his throat. "The hell!" he swore, jumping back to avoid a lunge at his leg. Louise just grinned as she kept up the attack.

Ezio laughed. "If you have time to fight; fight, don't talk!"

Louise followed up her first furious swings with a series of sharp jabs, and instead of trying to block every single one of Louise's strikes as he had before, Guiche tried to dodge her attacks, cursing all the while. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

Ezio smiled faintly as he watched the spar. Whoever had taught Guiche how to swing a sword had obviously never fought in a real battle. His style had been all flashy waving and parrying – and while these had their place in a skilled fencer's hands, using them exclusively was foolish. Parrying was tiring on the arms; dodging was easier.

Thankfully enough, these flaws were easily corrected. After all, the human mind was rather accepting of the idea of not getting thwacked upside the head with a stick. Once that was ingrained, all that was left to be done was running his students through the regular drills and giving them as much experience as possible by fighting skilled swordsmen.

Of course, Louise wasn't exactly 'skilled' in any sense of the word, considering the amateurish way she swung her own weapon against Guiche, but she had a few weeks' training over her classmate and absolutely no compunctions about fighting dirty after sparring against Ezio one too many times.

For the time being, it would have to do.

"Monsieur Auditore?"

Ezio blinked, tearing his eyes away from his two students, and saw one of the Academy's servants stand at a respectful distance behind him. "Yes?"

"The headmaster has asked Professor Colbert to make an important announcement," the servant said quickly, looking rather nervous. "He bade us servants to round up the students. If you could inform your mistress at your leisure…"

Ezio cocked an eyebrow at the increasingly flustered man, intrigued. "Why don't you tell her yourself, _mio amico_? She's right there, no?"

The servant winced, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, yes, but… she's rather scary, you know."

"…_Mi scusi?_"

"Didn't you hear the rumours? Apparently _she_ was the one who destroyed Fouquet's golem." The man shivered, glancing hurriedly past Ezio at Louise. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of _that_ girl, I'm sure. Now, if you'll excuse me, Our Sword, I have to tell the other students…"

And with that the servant made his excuses and his exit as quickly as he could. Ezio just stared after him for a moment, gaping. Louise, tiny, insecure little spitfire _Louise_ with her temper indirectly proportional to her size was supposed to be _terrifying_? He found the idea ludicrous.

As ludicrous as the idea of a commoner killing a mage, and the people of Halkeginia seemed loath to believe _that_ one so easily. And Louise had indeed destroyed Fouquet's golem, though she couldn't explain how.

Ezio shook his head to clear it, frowning. This wasn't what Louise wanted, contrary to what she said out loud. She wanted to be respected and acknowledged, certainly, but she also wanted to be _included_. It was obvious from the way she hung around him when she had the chance, or the little smiles she wore when he was bantering with Guiche, even though she tried to stay annoyed for propriety's sake. Even when she was exchanging insults with Kirche, she seemed more alive than when she simply sat around on her own, reading or sulking. She _hated_ being alone.

But fear wasn't something that would convince people to break bread with her.

Ezio sighed. _Che fastidio._ Unfortunately, he had other things to worry about. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He turned around, whistling sharply. Immediately, both Guiche and Louise stopped trying to hit each other. Ezio noticed with approval that the blond noble had received fewer bruises than in his other bouts – apparently, he was already taking the lesson to heart.

Ezio clapped his hands together, smirking. "_Basta!_ Enough for today!"

"Already?" Louise demanded, looking rather put out. Guiche, on the other hand, clasped his hands in a small prayer of thanks to the heavens, muttering under his breath in relief all the while.

"Old Osmond and _professore_ Colbert have some sort of proclamation to make," Ezio answered, shrugging. "It seemed important."

"That's strange," Louise commented as she threw her practice weapon at him, which he caught one-handed. "He's never done that before."

"Admittedly, Vallière," Guiche said with a groan, limping over and generally looking like death warmed over – even though his broken arm had been healed by Sister Catherine only yesterday, he still moved sluggishly, wincing at his numerous bruises and cuts he'd received, "well, wasn't it usually Mademoiselle Longueville that relayed the headmaster's decisions to the students?"

"It was, wasn't it?" Louise said, frowning.

Ezio snorted as they made their way back into the camp, amused. "I, for one, wouldn't be surprised if he worked himself to death on the paperwork these last few days without her help. Perhaps that's what the announcement is about?"

"Very funny," Louise snapped, glaring at him. "Haven't enough people died already?"

Ezio grinned cheekily at her. "I once had a friend called Bartolomeo, you know. Compared to some of _his_ jokes, mine are positively tame."

"Really?" Guiche asked, trying not to sound too interested. "What kind of jo— oof!"

Louise drew back her elbow from his battered ribs, giving him the evil eye. "Do you _want_ me to tell Montmorency about the trouble you're getting yourself into?"

"Have mercy, Vallière," the youth whimpered, nursing his side.

Louise nodded, satisfied. "That's what I thought." She suddenly stopped dead, staring. "Good Founder, why are there so many _people_ here?!"

Ezio followed Louise's eyes, and soon they found what had Louise so flummoxed: the large open space in the centre of the camp that had been left clear as an open space for meetings and to accommodate the Griffin Knights returning from their patrols, was now packed with people, their worried mutters and mumbling creating a hubbub like that that of an angered hive of bumblebees. Nearly all of them were students, some of which were still bandaged, a few missing arms or legs and supported by their friends and the assorted servants – apparently it took money, rare ingredients, and an incredibly skilled square-class water mage to regrow limbs, and few noble families wielded enough power and influence to procure enough of all three.

Ezio looked them over with a critical eye. The injured seemed pale and weak, but Sister Catherine had taken better care of them than most surgeons back in his home would have, considering they were sometimes no better than apprenticed carpenters and butchers.

The children here were lucky, he thought. They would be crippled, yes, but they would survive. That was better than many could have hoped for with such grievous injuries in his home – many unfortunate _victims_ of amputation (there was no better word, really, even though it was meant to save their lives) on the battlefield of warring Italy would have died of fever, blood loss, shock, or infection within weeks, perhaps even days. Drugging them to live out their last days in a clouded haze was sometimes the kinder mercy.

Not for the first time, Ezio watched with sharp eyes at a student whose hand had been utterly crushed by a falling boulder, waving the already cleanly healed stump of his wrist around as he chatted animatedly with his friends. The Florentine shook his head, silently amazed. Magic never stopped to surprise him.

He spotted Professor Colbert at the other end of the crowd, standing there with his usual calm dignity. The tall mage stood there, staff held in one hand and a scroll in the other. Ezio's sharp eyes picked up a red blob splotched on its centrefold, though he was unable to make out details from this far out… A seal?

After the last students had finally trickled in from across the encampment (Ezio spotted a few familiar faces on another end of the crowd, exchanging quick nods with Tabitha and winking back at Kirche's blown kiss, much to Louise's annoyance), Colbert slammed the butt of his staff into the ground and spoke a loud word that Ezio didn't understand, raising a small podium of packed earth. The teacher climbed the makeshift stairs, facing the assembled students and when the chattering continued unabashed, he loudly cleared his throat.

He immediately had everyone's attention – few students were stupid enough to ignore a man that they had seen conjure snakes of flame hot enough to melt rock, and those who were were quickly shushed by their less suicidal friends.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed students," Colbert began, suddenly looking rather nervous as he stood in front of the whole school with all its students staring up at him. This was far more difficult than teaching his usual class.

"Er… oh dear, I'm not used to this…" He sheepishly coughed into his sleeve. "Er, yes. Ignore that, please. Erm… I am here on behalf of the headmaster of our school." He somewhat desperately brandished the scroll in his hand. "I need an impartial volunteer to verify the seal, please!"

One student was pushed forwards by his peers, and soon reluctantly confirmed that the wax seal on the scroll was indeed that of Old Osmond. Colbert hurriedly broke the seal, unfurled the scroll and loudly cleared his throat, assuming the boring, droning voice he usually called on when reading from a particularly thick book during his lectures.

"_The Earl of Osmond, Headmaster of the illustrious Tristain Academy of Magic by the Grace of God, His Founder, and the appointment of His Majesty King Henry the Third of the Noble House of Tristain, Rightful Ruler of the Kingdom of Tristain and Defender of the Brimirian Faith_," Colbert warbled, dutifully reciting the deceased monarch's long list of titles, "_hereby declares that lectures at our noble institution of learning to be…_ discontinued until further notice?!" he bit out, his eyes widening in sudden shock as whispers exploded around him.

"Ten écu that Old Osmond never told _il professore_ before the official announcement," Ezio whispered to Louise out of the corner of his mouth.

The little mage snorted. "No bet."

Ezio just grinned, amused. Oh, his little mistress was learning.

Colbert continued to read once he had retrieved the glasses that had fallen off his nose, though he otherwise hid his anger at his headmaster's antics very well, the only sign being his shaking fingers as they tightly gripped the scroll. Ezio pricked his ears, trying to understand the stilted, archaic French used by the headmaster, deciphering it bit by bit.

It was just as people had whispered behind their hands, hoping it wouldn't come true: the Academy would be closed for a few months until the damages by Fouquet could be repaired. After a long list of flowery condolences, the headmaster implored the students to return home to their families.

"—_signed, the Earl of Osmond, Headmaster of the Tristain Academy of Magic_. Now, if you would all excuse me for a moment!" Colbert rolled up the scroll, his face unusually pale and serene. He stepped off his conjured podium a moment later, storming off towards Old Osmond's tent before any of the dismayed students could ask any questions.

"Think he's going to set fire to the old _bastardo_'s robes?" Ezio asked idly as the expected brouhaha broke out amongst the students, who all seemed unsure what to do next.

"Ezio!" Louise hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. "That's not funny!"

"Yes, yes, it is," he gritted out through clenched teeth, clutching his side. The flesh still felt tender, even though Henrietta had assured him that his cracked ribs had already fully healed. His body seemed to be convinced otherwise, though, considering that pain still lanced through him on occasion.

"…I forgot about that," Louise mumbled, looking away in sudden guilt. "Are you alright?"

"_Meraviglioso_," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Are you planning to return home to your family, Louise?"

"…Not really," the small mage said evasively, refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm sure there are better things I could do. Like studying, or reading, or…"

Ezio frowned at her. "_Che cosa?_ Why wouldn't you want to go home, Louise?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course it does! That sister you told me so much about, what was her name again… Cattleya, no? You seem fond of her. Won't she miss you, _piccina_?"

Louise glanced away, unwilling to look up at his reproachful expression. "…It's really _none_ of your damn business, is it?!" she suddenly exploded, storming away from him and disappearing in the throng of students returning to their tents.

Ezio stared after her, stunned. If his eyes had been any less sharp, he might have convinced himself that they were playing tricks on him, but there was no doubt in his mind that Louise had just tried very hard not to break out in tears.

He cursed violently, throwing his sparring weapons at a yelping Guiche, who fumbled to catch them before they clattered to the ground. "Ser Ezio!" he called out after the Florentine Assassin as the man marched after his little mistress. "What shall I do?"

"Pack your bags, _ragazzo_!" Ezio shouted over his shoulder, not really caring about the youth's troubles right now. "Are you not going home yourself?"

And then he left him standing there and gaping, hunting grimly after the little girl he'd grown so attached to.

…

Finding her was easy enough. But admittedly, Louise hadn't really tried to stay hidden, either. She had simply run away from him as fast as she could.

He found her soon enough near a large pond outside the city of tents, sitting silently amongst the gnarled roots of an old tree on its shores. Her knees were drawn under her chin, and her expression was hidden by her hair falling over her eyes.

Ezio slowed his steps, trying to think of the best way to handle this. The Assassins had often taken in orphans from the streets or got handed children wrapped in rough cloths, their destitute parents begging them to take in the child and raise it better than they would ever be able to. And so Ezio had raised many of these children, teaching both boys and girls how to read, to write, to count, to climb, to fight, to kill…

His lips quirked in a fond smile as he remembered. And since they were children, there were often tears and tantrums as they argued amongst each other. Ezio had spent many an evening playing the peacemaker when their little spats got out of hand.

But this was different. Louise was not one of his novices. She already had a family, even though it was one that she rarely talked about. She seemed to love her eldest sister, and sometimes spoke of her father and other sibling with some fondness, but she never mentioned her mother. Ezio hadn't pried any further – it was her own business, after all – but it was now obvious that something bothered her.

He stepped up to Louise, quietly tapping her shoulder. She only hid her face in her knees, drawing them closer and refusing to look up. "Go 'way."

The Assassin sighed, reaching into his pocket and held out a handkerchief. Louise didn't take it. Ezio shrugged, dropped the small square of cloth on her frail shoulder and then walked down to the edge of the water, picking up a small stone. It wasn't exactly the right shape, but perhaps…

It danced once, twice, thrice across the surface of the pond before it sank with a light plopping sound, the still water suddenly lighting up with many ripples, the trees reflected in its mirrored surface becoming murky and shaded.

Ezio nodded, reassured that he hadn't lost his touch. When they had been younger, Federico had sometimes taken him to the countryside, and they had spent hours hunting small animals through the brush, camping in a pretty clearing when it took their fancy, fishing at a lake or simply skipping stones, taking about anything and everything.

He picked up another stone, weighing it in his palm. Heavier. This one didn't skip when he threw it, dropping straight to the bottom with a splash that tore apart the silence.

Ezio idly picked up another stone, this time a more rounded pebble with a grainy surface—

"You're not going to stop, are you?" Louise asked crossly, her voice heavy.

Ezio smirked, not turning around. Federico had always known when something bothered his little brother.

"Not really," he answered calmly. "I have to do _something_, or I might just get bored." With a deft twist of the wrist, the pebble flew, skipping twice before it disappeared in a small fountain of brightly lit water.

"…And you couldn't just leave me alone?" Louise spoke up after a moment.

"Not when I know that something is bothering you, _piccina_."

"Why?" Louise asked bitterly. "Do you pity me?"

Ezio snorted, throwing up another small stone in his palm and catching it just as easily. "Pity you? Don't talk nonsense, Louise. I'm your familiar, _vero_? Your partner, your friend. Is that not reason enough for me to worry?"

Louise said nothing, and Ezio just threw the small stone, watching it skip once on the water and land into the weeds on the other side of the pond. He could wait.

He heard a loud sigh behind him. "My mother is… strict," Louise said quietly. "Strict and demanding. She wasn't born a high-ranking noble, but she worked hard for all her power and success. My father, then the first son of a duke of Tristain, met her on the battlefield and admired her for her courage. He asked her to marry her right then and there – fell on his knee, bowed his head, the whole business – and she accepted. A story right out of an old fairy tale."

"…They are happy?"

Louise barked out a laugh. "In a sense. They complement each other well. Three children are proof enough of love, don't you think?"

Ezio wisely kept his peace, picking up another stone. He'd met many married couples with children who were unhappy, the husband often leaving to keep a mistress company, or the wife finding a lover to rekindle the passion that her marriage had lost long ago. His parents had been happily married, true, but rare were the noble families whose scions married for love alone. Love was considered the by-product of marriage, not its cause.

"My mother is a brilliant mage," Louise continued, bitterness creeping into her voice again. "It's an undeniable fact; just ask any yob in the street if they've heard of Karin the Heavy Wind; they'll talk your ears off with their praise. Before my sister grew ill, Cattleya was well on her way to become square-class herself, and Éléonore – well, she can use her element unlike anyone I've ever seen. Bloody _geniuses_, the lot of them."

"You don't sound particularly happy," Ezio noted.

"Should I be happy, Ezio?" She laughed again, no mirth in her voice. "Now imagine this: me, poor, frail little Louise, unable to even use the most basic of spells, a spectacular failure with any style of magic you care to name, a _Zero_," she spat out, her voice filled with self-loathing. "Mother tried everything: tutors, private lessons, she even brought in healers to see whether I was crippled or ill, but nothing helped.

"Then, one beautiful day," Louise continued, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "she decided to send me to the Academy. She walked into my room, told me to pack my bags, and only to return when I had proven I was worthy to carry the name of Vallière. That was two years ago. I haven't been back home since. The Rule of Steel, that's what she calls it."

Ezio's hand stilled, his arm stretched out in its throwing motion. "So you cannot go home," he said slowly.

"No, not really," Louise said bitterly. "Mother won't allow it. The Academy _is_ my home, whether I like it or not. And now I have to leave it as well! Can _you_ tell me where I am supposed to go, Ezio? Because _I_ have no idea."

Ezio dropped the stone back onto the shore, sighing. "…There's a saying in my country."

"Really?" she asked sardonically, her voice biting. "Do tell!"

"It goes like this." Ezio cleared his throat. "_La casa è dove si trova il cuore_."

"…And what does that mean, pray?"

He turned around, smiling weakly at her. "Home is where the heart is."

"Well, isn't that _incredibly_ useful," Louise said, glaring at him over her knees with red-rimmed eyes. "And how does that help me, exactly?"

Ezio shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't really planned on asking this, but he now realized that he didn't really have a choice in the matter. "…Louise, do you want to come with me to the city?"

She started in surprise, and he cursed himself for being so blunt. He had originally planned on getting Louise home to her family and then leave to get to the city on his own, but that seemed impossible now.

Louise sat up straight, watching him warily. "…Why go to the city?"

Ezio just grinned lopsidedly at her. "I think the question should rather be 'Why _not_ go the city,' _piccina_. The people, the shops, the sights… It should be fun, no?"

"Any real reason besides sightseeing?" Louise said, rolling her eyes.

Ezio shrugged, unashamed of her spotting his ulterior motive, or at least some of it. "My armour is damaged, and I need to get it repaired. Agnès recommended an acquaintance of hers to me."

Louise scowled. "I don't like Agnès," she mumbled into her knees, looking down at her toes angrily. "She wanted to leave you to die."

"As she should have," he said calmly, earning himself an annoyed glare. "Her duty was to protect _sua altezza reale_, after all, not rescue foolhardy climbers like me."

"I still don't understand how you can be so cavalier about someone leaving you to _die_," Louise grumbled. "I know I wouldn't be."

"She had a good reason?" he offered mildly, smirking at her glower. "Ah, aren't you the most innocent thing, Louise. It's endearing, truly."

"Oh, shut up already!" she snapped angrily, cheeks flaming. "So you want to find an armourer, I understand. Anything else?"

For a moment, Ezio debated telling her about the voices he had heard when he'd touched the Staff of Destruction; of Desmond, Connor, and those unknown others who had whispered in his mind. He finally settled on the lesser truth she would actually believe. "…Fouquet left me with a message."

Louise looked up, her eyes suddenly sharp. "Fouquet left you a message? Before she died, you mean?"

Ezio nodded seriously, crossing his arms. "The name of an establishment in the capital called the 'Fairies' Inn', or something similar. She told me to look for a man named Roberto."

"And what will us searching for this mystery man accomplish, exactly?" Louise asked sceptically.

Ezio shrugged. "I have no idea." He grinned at her. "Care to accompany me and find out?" As Louise's forehead scrunched up in thought, he smirked shrewdly. "Besides, you can neither stay here, nor go home. Is there really anywhere else you could go?"

"So, let's just go poke at the associates of a dead renegade mage and see what happens?" Louise demanded, raising an eyebrow. "Talk about setting about a hornet's nest."

"But it does sound like it would make for an interesting adventure, no?"

"…What the hell." Louise sighed, smiling faintly at him. "As you said, there's really nothing else for me to do, is there?"

The Florentine chuckled. "Good! We're decided, then! Now," he said, walking over and hauling the surprised girl to her feet by the hand with a small yelp, "wipe your eyes, _piccina_, and then pack your things! We're leaving early tomorrow!"

Louise glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I was _not_ crying."

"I never said you were," Ezio said airily, though his smirk was answer enough about his true thoughts on the matter. "But still, all that dampness on your cheeks is worrying. You should stay away from the pond, Louise; you might just fall in, no?"

"Smarmy, annoying, two-sous-worthless git," she muttered under her breath as she grabbed the rough handkerchief lying on her shoulder. Ezio picked up another small pebble as she cleaned her reddening face, smirking in the shadow of his mask as he heard her mumble angrily under her breath. Try as she might act like an adult, Louise was still a child.

He threw once more, and this time the stone skipped further across the widest stretch of the pond, rippling the water and making the light on its surface dance.

…

"Look, _piccina_," Ezio said, growing more exasperated by the minute. "It's not that difficult."

"Says you!" Louise complained, shooting him a glare. "That thing is huge! How the hell am I meant to climb up on it?"

Ezio rolled his eyes, grabbing her foot before she could complain any more. "Like this. Foot in the stirrup, hand on the pommel, and _push_!" With a small squeak, Louise was suddenly lifted in the air by a hand on her behind. She swung her leg over the horse's back by reflex alone, unwilling to fall down. Again. It had been embarrassing enough the first time, not to mention the second and third.

Ezio handed her the reins, grinning. "_E voilà!_ Worked well enough, no?"

Louise glowered down at him from the saddle. Even though she was for once taller than him, she didn't exactly seem to enjoy the experience. "Sometimes, I really, _really_ loathe you, Ezio."

"Don't tell me you've never ridden a horse before," Ezio asked reproachfully.

"Of course I have!" she said indignantly. "But that was _years_ ago, on my mother's estate! And those were _ponies_, not these… four-legged behemoths!"

The horse shifted at her shrill tone, making her squeak as her foot nearly slipped out of the stirrup. Ezio reached out and patted the horse's cheek. "There, there," he muttered soothingly, calming the miffed animal. "Ignore the silly little girl. She didn't mean it, _mia amica_, I promise."

"Ezio!"

"Stop shouting, Louise, or you might just scare it into running away at full gallop," the Assassin chided with a small grin. Louise's mouth immediately snapped shut, though her glare remained as strong as ever. Ezio ignored her temper, as he usually did. "Now, I'll get my own things ready, and then we'll leave, _bene? _Be gentle on the reins!"

He presumed that Louise would have loved nothing more than to harangue him as he left her to fend by herself on that gigantic horse, but the fear of the mighty animal galloping away on its own stalled all her attempts. So she kept glaring at him impotently.

The horse threw back its head, snorting loudly. If she hadn't known any better, Louise would have thought that the animal was mocking her.

Ezio marched through the busy crowd to the post where his own horse was tethered, dodging people left and right and occasionally pushing someone lightly out of the way. Immediately after Professor Colbert's announcement, students and commoners alike had started packing their things, putting their possessions on carts and carriages and forming caravans to get homes safely.

This resulted in a merry chaos the next day as horses, vehicles, and many other draught animals congregated in the tent city, commoners darting back and forth like bees to help their noble masters or secure their own possessions.

He grimaced. To his sharp ears, the chatter, the noise, the yelled orders – it was all so _loud_.

Soon enough, he had found his own horse, a large and well-groomed animal that turned its head towards him with sharp eyes. Unlike him, the beast seemed rather unfazed by all the noise around it, turning its head towards him as he approached.

Ezio gently patted its head and went to work saddling it. When Henrietta had returned to the capital, Agnès had been forced to leave most of her horses behind at the Academy – considering that most of the Musketeers had been killed or injured by Fouquet, she really had no choice in the matter. At the princess's insistence, she had reluctantly loaned two of the horses to Ezio, insisting that he return them once he came to the capital.

Ezio smiled to himself. Louise didn't know it, but these animals were battle-trained chargers, conditioned to stand still and respond to their riders' commands even if cannon fire, musket salvos, and the screams of dying men were ringing out around them. A little shouting wouldn't bother them as much as bad treatment would.

The saddlebags attached, the various pieces of his ancestor's armour, his alchemic supplies, and his backup weapons were all safely stowed away… Was he forgetting anything?

"…Monsieur Auditore?"

Ah, yes. That.

He turned around. "_Signorina_ Siesta," he greeted the maid, smiling genially. "I trust you are doing well?"

"Oh, fine! I'm doing fine!" the maid babbled all of a sudden as he stepped close, her face flushing a fiery red, clutching the bundle with her possessions with nervous fingers. "Professor Colbert paid all of us servants half year's wages in apology for the sudden dismissal, so I'll be able to help my family while I'm out of work! And Marteau promised us that he would take everyone back once the Academy reopened. I'm rather glad to be going home to Tarbes, though, to be honest; I haven't seen my brothers and sisters for months, so… So…"

Ezio just smiled at her as the her voice petered out into an awkward, embarrassed silence, the maid refusing to look up at him.

"…_Signorina_, I never truly thanked you for your great kindness while I was here, did I?"

Her eyes snapped up, staring at him for a moment before she realized what she was doing, her cheeks flaming up again. "Er, you actually did, I think. Several times."

Ezio chuckled. "Once more, then. For luck." And before she could say anything else, he had already wrapped up the confused girl in a hug, making her clamp up in surprise.

"Thank you," he said quietly into her ear. "When I arrived here, I was ill, wounded, and helpless, and you took care of me. And when I explored this new world of yours, I wasn't sure what to do or say, and you helped me find my place here. _Mille, mille grazie_, Siesta, _davvero_."

"Er… You're welcome?!" Siesta squeaked, unsure, though she smiled back at him when he let go of her, finally letting go of her nervousness and relaxing. "…I'm glad I could help you, Monsieur Auditore. You've always been kind to me. Far kinder than many of the nobles here."

Ezio laughed out loud, winking at her. "I'm no noble."

"You should be," Siesta said without thinking, clapping her hands over her mouth in mortified horror immediately afterwards. Ezio just bit his tongue to keep himself from chortling – he couldn't help but be amused by the cheerful girl's embarrassment.

"I've never thought much of titles," Ezio went on, grinning. "They are just as easily given as they are taken away. And nobility is ephemeral, no? In the end, we are all buried in the same coffins."

"Well said," another voice intervened, still audible over the din of the crowd, and both Ezio and Siesta started as Professor Colbert made his way towards them, the balding teacher looking even more harried and distracted than usual. "Well said indeed, even though most of the Royal Court or the Church won't agree with you, but yes, that's what should be the general doctrine of a feudal principle, a meritocracy the way it is already implemented in Germania, not to mention parts of Gallia, and—"

"_Professore?_" Ezio interrupted cautiously. "Are you well?"

Colbert slapped the side of his head, the grey eyes behind his spectacles clearing. "Veuillez-m'excusez, Monsieur Auditore. I've been terribly distracted these last few days. Reports, letters, healing the injured, overlooking the builders, welcoming the Griffin Knights, forming the caravans…" He made a vague gesture in the air, looking thoroughly frazzled. "Well, I think you can imagine." It was only then that he seemed to notice Siesta, shooting her an apologetic look. "Terribly sorry for interrupting your conversation, Mademoiselle, truly."

Siesta made a small curtsey, the whole movement made awkward by the bundle in her arms. "No need, Professor Colbert."

"Why take some of your valuable time to speak to little me, then?" Ezio prompted, his face guarded. He still hadn't entirely let go of his wariness around the headmaster and his adjutant, and probably would do so for a while. It may not have been entirely rational, but that mattered little to a man like him, someone who had learned to trust his instincts after they had saved him countless times.

Colbert studied him through his spectacles, his sharp grey eyes calm and his voice even. "Because you are an honourable man that deserves my courtesy, Monsieur Auditore, even if I cannot give you anything else."

Ezio raised a curious eyebrow, surprised. "Is that so?"

"Of course. I promised you that the artefacts you returned and entrusted would remain safe. That is a promise I intend to keep." He rested his staff in the crook of his arm, holding out his hand. "I wish you safe travels, Monsieur Auditore. The roads are dangerous enough for mages of skill – be careful."

"…Thank you, _professore_." Ezio grabbed onto the teacher's hand and shook it, surprised at the firm grip in those deceptively weak-looking fingers. He smiled at the harried teacher. "Do not let the headmaster grind you down, _intesi_? The school still needs you."

Colbert grimaced, though he still managed to smile back. "I'll try." He shot a look over his shoulder at the other side of the road where Louise's horse cantered in one place, the animal getting increasingly antsy at the lack of action. It didn't help its rider's nervousness any.

"Watch out for little Mademoiselle de la Vallière over there," the teacher said quietly as he turned back to Ezio, his expression growing serious again. "Her mother cares for her, even though she would never admit it to anyone, least of all herself. She would be utterly heartbroken if she were to die."

"Should I be worried? It must be safer than here, at any rate," Ezio joked, smiling disarmingly.

Colbert breathed a small sigh that was equal parts sorrow and resignation. "The capital used to be a safe city. Not anymore." The scholar clapped a hand on Ezio's shoulder, smiling wryly. "Watch your step, Monsieur Auditore. May the Founder go with you."

Ezio nodded, honestly grateful. "_Grazie, professore. Per tutto._"

"Je le fis avec plaisir. Bon voyage!"

Ezio laughed, swiftly undid his horse's tether, and hauled himself into the saddle of the mighty animal in a single deft move that he had practiced throughout his entire life. The horse cantered, unsure of its new master, until he gave it a sharp twist of the reins, stilling it.

"Monsieur Auditore! …Ezio!"

Surprised, he threw down a look at Siesta, who was standing to the side and wringing her hands in nervousness, looking unsure about what to say until she finally burst it out without care for decorum or decency.

"Tarbes is just a day's ride out on the road to Amiens from the capital! You'll always be welcome in our home!"

Ezio laughed and leaned down, briefly touching her flushed cheek. "_Mille grazie_, Siesta. I'll remember it. Stay safe, now. _Alla prossima volta!_"

And with a click of the tongue and a light jab of the heel in the horse's side, the horse set off at a slight trot, its huge frame easily bearing a way through the crowd.

"_Andiamo_, Louise!" he yelled cheerfully over the din. "We have three days of road before us!"

"Ezio!" Louise yelled shrilly. "Don't you even _think_ of leaving me behind! How do I get this thing to move!?"

Ezio turned in the saddle to face her, a devilish grin on his face. He raised his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.

And all of a sudden, Louise's horse exploded into full gallop, taking its shouting rider with it. The commoners and merchants scattered before her with screams and oaths as the battle-trained charger bore down towards them.

Ezio chased after both of them through the bustling tent city, laughing all the while as his little mistress cursed him in all the languages she knew of and a few she invented on the spot, leaving behind an amused teacher and a slightly heartbroken common girl.

Soon enough, they were on the road to the city of Tristain.

…

Well, finally done with this chapter. We can finally get to the city with all its dark, narrow alleys, its high towers, its courtly balls, and all that lovely intrigue floating about like a faint whisper carried on the night breeze…

But first, to the references.

The sermon/prayer at Katie's funeral is a mixture of several psalms and prayers translated from French.

The beginning of the letter read out by Colbert is loosely inspired by the heading and introduction used in official documents of the British Monarchy called a _Letters Patent_ (funnily enough, there's no singular form), specifically the _Letters Patent Constituting the Office of Governor of Canada_, signed by King George the Sixth of the UK on the 1st of October 1947. You should look it up, it makes for fascinating reading – its style and use of English is incredibly interesting. Much different from what we're used to in our day.

Ezio's saying ("Home is where the heart is") is quite well-known, especially in the English-speaking world. It originates from the writings of the Roman scholar _Pliny the Elder_ (full name _Gaius Plinius Secundus Maior_), who lived from 23-79 AD. The specific phrase Ezio uses is the Italian translation, as far as I'm aware.

… _**Shadenight123**_, if you're reading this and any of my Italian is wrong (_again_, to my great shame), feel free to correct and make fun of me. Mille grazie, maestro.

…

TRANSLATIONS OF FOREIGN PHRASES:

**Intermezzo.—** "Interval, break." Italian. A word with different meanings. In music, it commonly refers to a piece of music that acts as a bridge between two other compositions.

Earlier in the Renaissance, it was used to refer to a type of musical theatre that was played between different plays, also called an "intermedio." In the 18th century, an intermezzo was a piece/act that linked together several pieces of a larger opera, providing dramatic context or comic relief. In the 19th century, the intermezzo was a movement played between two larger pieces of a longer work – the bridging movement was then called an "instrumental intermezzo."

…Eerily fitting for this chapter, actually.

**Piccina.— **"Little one." Italian.

**Andiamo!—** "Onward!" Italian.

**Mio amico.—** "My friend." Italian. An address used only on males, as "amico" is the male form of the word "friend."

English, being utterly gender-neutral when it comes to the nature of words in the grammatical sense ("the car"), doesn't have the problem of male or female definitive articles, but French ("le périple," "la voiture") and Italian ("il amore," "la corona") certainly do. German even has _three_ articles: male ("Der Bus"), female ("Die Frau"), and neutral ("Das Auto"), which confuses the hell out of anyone trying to learn German as a foreign language. They probably did it on purpose to annoy tourists.

…**Mi scusi?—** "I'm sorry?" Italian.

**Che fastidio.—** "How tiresome." Italian.

**Basta!—** "Enough!" or "Stop!" Italian.

**Professore.— **"Professor." Italian.

**Écu.—** French. Literally means "shield," though it could also refer to the medieval currency, which would then translate as "crown." The Tristainian currency is the écu.

**Bastardo.—** "Bastard." Italian.

**Meraviglioso.—** "Marvelous." Italian.

**Che cosa?—** "What?" Italian.

**Ragazzo.—** "Boy." Italian.

**La casa è dove si trova il cuore.—** "Home is where the heart is." Italian. See references above for better explanation.

**Sua altezza reale.—** "Her Royal Highness." Italian.

**E voilà!—** "There you go!" or, more figuratively, "Hey presto!" Italian.

**Mia amica.—** "My friend." Italian. An address used only on females; see "mio amico" for explanation.

**Bene?—** "Alright?" Italian.

**Signorina.—** "Miss." Italian.

**Mille grazie.— **"Thank you very much." Italian.

**Davvero.—** "Truly." Italian.

**Veuillez-m'excusez, Monsieur Auditore****.— **"Please excuse me, Mister Auditore." French.

**Mademoiselle.—** "Miss." French.

**Intesi?—** "Understand?" Italian.

**Grazie, professore. Per tutto.—** "Thank you, professor. For everything." Italian.

**Je le fis avec plaisir.—** "It was my pleasure." French. Bit of an archaic formulation, but valid nonetheless.

**Bon voyage!— **"Safe travels," or "Godspeed!" French.

**Alla prossima volta!—** "Until next time!" Italian.

…

P.S.: Assassin's Creed III looks so. Damn. Awesome. That gorgeous scenery, those gruesomely awe-inspiring fight scenes, those great naval battles… Unfortunately, I'll never be able to play the game on my current machine. Oh, well. I spend most of my free time writing anyway, when I finally manage to pry myself loose from studying. Still, there's always playthroughs to see the story unfold. Can't _wait_ to see what mess Desmond is getting himself into this time. Not too long now!

…

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), and _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011). At the time of this writing (August 2012), _Assassin's Creed III_ is announced to be released in October 2012.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


	9. Chapter IX – The More Things Change

DO NOTE that this story IS NOT endorsed by the original holders of the intellectual rights or copyrights mentioned at the end of this chapter. This is a work of _fanfiction_ based on the original work and its associated franchise, with the intent to amuse and distract its readers. There is absolute no intent to make money or otherwise deny the original copyright holders their given due. Should the original holders of the copyright be offended by my use of their rightful property, I will gladly take it down in accordance with the Terms of Service of this website. Please support the official release(s) mentioned below.

…

Good day or good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the ninth chapter of _On The Wings Of An Eagle_!

(Oh, and Happy New Year and Easter, to those who celebrate it!)

I'll admit that I am very, very surprised that people keep on reading this story, even if the last update was a whopping five months ago! To all those who kept reading, even when I was being a most unsporting author: thank you, thank you, thank you.

This story has nearly four hundred reviews and close to a thousand members following and/or favouriting it. I really never really expected this sort of viewer response for my first story, and I am deeply grateful for it.

You always told me when you liked the story, when you thought that some parts needed improvement, or when you thought I was going off on a dangerous path… Your genuine enthusiasm for this story (when I sometimes had very little of it myself) was one of the things that kept me and this story going.

Now, as for the explanation why this update is so horrifically late: lots and lots of reasons. The main one is related to me taking many new, important, and difficult classes at university. I won't elaborate on them here (because I'm paranoid like that), but suffice to say that I spend most of my time reading thick books that would bore most of you to tears, because you are sensible people and not utterly insane.

The second reason is that I've been trying to be more of an outgoing person: more sports, joining various musical and student groups, generally being more of a social butterfly (believe me, applying that term to me is very, _very_ weird)… All of which cuts into my very limited free time.

Third, I'm still looking for a job. Might be successful soon, but let's see first.

And fourth, I'm planning a new story. And by new story, I'm planning to write something in a completely genre and style from what I'm used to. Which means hours and hours of research, discussions with fellow authors and friends like _**Wing Zero Alpha**_, reading so that I can get an insight into different styles… You get the picture.

On the other hand… any fans of _**Code Geass**_ here? Keep your eyes peeled; you might get something interesting from me soon.

People have told me that I spend too much time focussing on my other stories instead of this one. These people have a point. However, I need to explain something important: writing is my hobby. This is why my stories spend pages describing architecture, or why I suddenly decide to write an Avatar noir-mystery in the first person instead of working on Wings, or why my updates take ages… I like to experiment, to try out different things. I don't feel rushed by update schedules.

I know this sounds heartless when I tell it to folks like you who are patiently waiting for months for me to finally update, but I don't mean it in a bad way. When I write, I want things to be perfect. When you read about a character, I want you to see that character. When I describe a city to you, I want you to see the streets of that city, hear it, smell it. And when characters die, get hurt, make mistakes, or fall in love, I want you to feel the punch of that right in the gut.

And if it takes me far longer to get that right, then I will take the time. I think it's worth it. You guys are an awesome audience. You deserve the best I can give you.

Still, I'm very sorry that you had to wait this long for an update. I hope this chapter somehow makes up for it.

Right, explanation time is officially over. To follow: forty pages in the beautiful city of Tristain, with its towers, politics, and darkness creeping below the ornate surface…

Please, enjoy yourself while reading this story, and whether you liked or disliked it, be kind enough to leave a review. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

…

**On The Wings Of An Eagle**

**Chapter IX – The More Things Change…**

…

"Louise?" Ezio asked cautiously over his shoulder as they cantered slowly along the road. "Are you alright?"

The young noble had been unusually quiet for the last hour or so, something that Ezio found increasingly worrying. He had soon realized Louise was not someone that particularly _liked_ silence. She was always talking, asking him questions or haranguing him in some way or another if she was angry or bored, if only to remind herself that she was not alone anymore. Her being quiet was not a good sign.

Ezio grabbed the reins in one hand, slowing down to let Louise's horse close the distance. He reached out to nudge Louise's shoulder with an armoured glove. "_Piccina_, please talk to me—"

He managed to loosen one stirrup just in time to dodge the explosion spell she sent his way.

'_That one was intentionally underpowered,' _a part of Ezio's mind noted idly as he hung low from one side of his saddle, watching as a tree off the side of the road lost half its leaves as the spell impacted against its trunk. He was mildly impressed. _'She is learning to control her spells, it seems.'_

Ezio carefully peeked over his own saddle, smiling brightly as Louise glared at him. "I assume you are not particularly happy with me, _vero_?"

"Two days," Louise said slowly, still glaring. "We've been riding to the capital for two days already, and we've only stopped to eat and sleep! Not for the rain, not for the cold, not when those bandits tried to rob us—"

"Running was the better option then, you know," Ezio chided her as he straightened back. "They might have killed us, otherwise."

"I don't care!" Louise screeched, her eye twitching. "What I'm saying, Ezio, is that we've been riding for two days already, we've only stopped once today to eat something, and my butt is sorer than I ever thought was possible! I'm _tired_, damn it!"

And that was another thing that had surprised Ezio. He had learned to ride early in life, the stable-lad on their family's estate in Monteriggioni showing him all the tricks of taking care of a horse in his youth. His father had insisted on it.

Louise, on the other hand, had never learned how to properly fasten a saddle so that a horse didn't get its back rubbed raw and bloody, or how to calm down a horse enough so that you could lift its leg to scratch out the dirt stuck in its hooves, or how to fit a bridle and bit, or how to brush a horse's mane and wash it, or how to stick your arm down a horse's anus and unclog its bowels when it had eaten something it couldn't digest. Apparently, the grooms at the Vallière estate had undertaken all these messy tasks, leaving the duke's youngest child remarkably ignorant about how to care for a horse.

Ezio had found it incredibly stupid and told her so, touching off another tantrum on her part. It didn't stop him from forcing her to take care of her own horse whenever she tried to hand off these tasks to the landlords of the inns they stayed at.

In retrospect, Ezio thought, forcing Louise to clean up her own horse's droppings in the stables might have contributed to the foul mood she was in now. He glanced at her out of the corner of his cloak's hood, and found her still glowering at him. He quickly looked away, trying to look innocent.

It _might_ have annoyed her after all. Just a little bit.

He clicked his tongue sharply and snapped the reins, the warhorse cantering faster along the wide road leading to the city of Tristain. Behind him, he heard Louise curse under her breath, but she soon managed to get her horse to catch up to him.

He smiled briefly to himself. Before, she had had trouble to get her horse to point the right way. Necessity was the greatest teacher, it seemed.

"…Hey, Ezio."

"_Si, piccina?_"

"Can we stop soon?" Louise pleaded. "We're still half a day's ride from the city, and it's already growing dark. I don't want to camp in the woods."

"Sleeping under the stars might be a good experience for you, you know," he said, grinning at her.

The young noble shuddered violently. "Don't even joke about that," she muttered. "The nights here are dangerous, Ezio. At night, the wildlings raid, the orcs pillage, and all sorts of unpleasantness creeps out of its hiding spots. Why do you think that all the villages we passed were surrounded by palisades? And why they closed the gates after letting us in so late?"

"_Va bene_," Ezio agreed, seeing her troubled look. "We'll stop at the next inn, alright?"

"Where is it, then?"

Good question. Ezio pulled on his bridle, peering at the landscape around him from the crest of the hill they stood on. They had followed the briskly travelled road for two days now, crossing paths with the caravans, merchants, and families travelling to and from the Academy. The road had run along a wide and coursing river for a while – Louise said it flowed from the Forêts Obscures towards the sea, with no soul brave or foolish enough to travel all the way upriver to find its source – but it had soon diverged, and they had ridden through cultivated plains, hills with grazing animals, and the occasional dense wood that seemed far safer than the ones through which Ezio had tracked Matilda, but still entirely different than the ones he knew from home.

And now, as the sun was setting on the horizon of Tristain and stinging Ezio's eyes, he had to admit that he couldn't spot a convenient inn for them to stop.

"Isn't that a peasant down there?" Louise suddenly said, pointing down the hill.

"You have sharp eyes," Ezio commented when he finally spotted the small cart ambling down the road. He had somehow missed it.

Louise laughed to herself. "Cattleya used to take me into the woods of our estate to look for rare birds and insects. I always found them, and she would try to catch and tame them. Well," she said, her voice growing soft, "that was before she fell ill, of course…"

"_Andiamo_, Louise!" Ezio said loudly, snapping her out of her reverie. "Do you want to waste any more daylight or not?"

"I said I was coming!"

He laughed and snapped his reins, throwing the Musketeer's horse into a gallop with Louise close behind him. Soon, they had reached the rickety cart pulled by a pair of oxen, the huge animals being driven onward by their owner.

"_Salute_, my friend!" Ezio called out, tugging on the reins and waving at the older man with a smile. "Is there an inn or a hospice somewhere up the road?"

"Dunno what ye're looking for, pal," the man said crabbily, glaring at Ezio from underneath the brim of his cap.

"Oh, just a place to stay for the night for me and my friend," Ezio said conversationally, apparently not put off by the man's attitude. "Do you know if there is a place that would take us in?"

"Dunno about that," the ox-driver answered curtly. "Last village was a few miles back, s'far as I know. You fellas must'a missed it."

"Perhaps," Ezio agreed amiably. "What I was asking, though, was if there was an inn or some similar establishment further down the road?"

"Why don't ye go and look yerself, nancyboy?" the man retorted, annoyed.

"Listen to me, commoner!" Louise hissed, throwing back the hood of her riding cloak and glaring heatedly at the old peasant, who jumped in fright when he recognized the Academy's uniform she wore underneath her cloak. "You will answer his question, do you understand?! And you will be polite about it, or else!"

"Pardon me, milady," the man muttered, quickly doffing his cap and bowing frantically. "Didn't realize that you were noble folks, milord and milady; truly sorry about me rudeness an' all—"

"Answer his question already!" Louise snapped, her horse whinnying softly.

"Beggin' yer pardon, me good sir," the peasant said hurriedly, bowing again. "There's an inn about a two miles further down the road, just follow it up the hill and you'll find it soon enough. 'S a good place, it's got a stable an' all, and—"

"That's good enough, _grazie_," Ezio said politely, smiling down at him.

The man looked up at the two of them, fear in his eyes as they jumped from him to Louise, and Ezio couldn't help but find it disquieting.

"Bah!" Louise snapped her reins, looking away in disgusted annoyance. "What else to expect from a commoner, really," she muttered as she urged her horse down the road.

"Here." Ezio reached into his pouch, tossing a silver coin at the peasant. The man caught it, surprised. "For the pains in your back," he added with a smile. The old man's bowed back and slightly crooked spine hadn't escaped him.

The old peasant just stared at him as he turned the coin over in his hands, bewildered. Ezio reached down and patted him on the shoulder, nudging his horse to ride past his cart.

"Founder bless ye, milord!" he heard the old man call out after him, and he briefly smiled to himself as he galloped to catch up to Louise. She was still seething when he caught up to her.

"Boorish, uneducated, common piece of dirt," she muttered under her breath, her jaw locked tight as she glared ahead. Ezio said nothing.

"…What were you doing with him?" Louise asked as the silence dragged on.

The Florentine shrugged. "I gave him a silver coin and thanked him for helping us, Louise."

She turned to look at him, confused. "Didn't you notice how he talked to you, Ezio?"

Ezio glanced at her, his expression stoic. "Did you not notice how _you_ talked to him, _piccina_?"

And with a dig of the heels and a sharp _"Andiamo!"_, he drove his horse into a gallop, leaving behind a rather puzzled young noble wondering what she had done wrong.

When they had finally stopped at the lonely inn and retired for the night – Ezio not saying a word to her all evening – Louise saw him leaning against the oaken frame of the window, looking out towards the faint lights of the capital in the distance with a pensive look on his face. She quietly wished him goodnight and went to bed, wondering what the words he spoke to no one in particular meant.

"_Più le cose cambiano, più rimangono le stesse…"_

…

"We're nearly there!" Louise called out, waving at him to catch up to her. She was beaming, no doubt happy at the prospect of finally joining civilization again. "Come on, Ezio!"

He just snorted in amusement, following her up the last hill. Her mood had improved the closer they got to the city, apparently having forgotten the unpleasantness of their travels so far.

The noble girl clumsily reined in her horse at the top of the hill, turning around to smile at him. "Look at the city, Ezio!" she cajoled him, throwing out an arm to indicate the expanse of the city below. "Isn't it beautiful?"

From so far away, he had to agree that the city seemed pittoresque: surrounded by a circle or rolling green hills, a wide blue river snaking through the basin, the capital of Tristain stood on the shores of the coursing water. A large cathedral rose into the sky at the very centre of the city, stone arches and bows leaping out like the branches of a tree from its main nave. Opposite it on the other side stood what looked like a palace, surrounded by high walls that enclosed green gardens and fountains. Both were as splendorous as any palazzo or place of worship in Florence or Rome, their white stonework shining brightly in the morning sun.

On both shores of the river, the city spread out for a few miles as a twisted maze of streets and buildings, the belltowers of many churches dotting the sky above it. It was densely built, and Ezio was surprised to see that most of the buildings rose far higher than was common in Italia, the interlocking red-shingled roofs reminding him of flowing waves striking rock – it must have been the work of Earth mages allowing for more construction and greater stability in architecture, he reasoned. Several wide stone bridges crossed the river, and even from so far away, he could see the busy traffic of carts, people, and barges on and under it.

The city was enclosed by high stone walls and ramparts, and he easily spotted the castellos at the mouth of the river flowing into the city and near the city's centre, the outlying artillery bastions creating funnels for any attacking force, the high watchtowers, and the reinforced gates leading into the city. He frowned as he considered the city's defences. Whoever had built them had sincerely expected war.

It looked like a beautiful city, but Ezio was wary. From the high vantage points he had always preferred, Firenze, Roma, and Constantinople had also seemed full of splendour and beauty. It had been a mere mask for the decay, corruption, and decadence of its rulers, criminals, and clergy. He recalled _professore_ Colbert's warning words to him before their departure, and withheld judgement.

"Well?" Louise demanded, uneasy at his silence. "Don't you think it's pretty?"

Ezio glanced at her and laughed. "I've certainly seen larger cities—" he began with a twinkle in his eye.

Louise rolled her eyes. "Of course you have. According to the tales you tell that maid, you've seen _everything_."

"—but never one quite like this," he finished. "It has its own charm, _è certo_." He quirked an eyebrow at her. "How do you know about the stories that I tell _signorina_ Siesta, in any case?"

"We've taken to chatting ever since you beat Guiche into the ground," Louise said vaguely. "She mentioned a few things every now and then."

"You chat about _me_?" he asked, amused.

"We don't have much else in common except knowing you," Louise said haughtily.

Ezio clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter, but a chortle escaped nonetheless.

Louise reached into her pocket for her wand, glowering at him. "Ezio…"

Ezio gave his horse a sharp jab of the heels in the flank, the animal bolting away. He heard Louise's shout of annoyance behind him and burst out into laughter as she chased him down the hill towards the bustling city.

…

They left their horses in a stable by the city gates (Ezio cheerfully showing off his many knives and making sure to get the stablehand's name, ensuring prompt service), and were soon off.

Walking through the city of a magical kingdom was a strange experience, Ezio thought. Everywhere he looked, he saw things that he thought intimately familiar – the fashion of the people he passed in the street were very much close to those worn by men and women in Florence and Rome, for example. The architecture seemed quite similar – rows of houses built closely together, decorated facades, and arches leading to inner courtyard and markets. And from the way people chatted, haggled and bantered on the streets, he could have been in any large city where life went on and money was to be made.

However, just when he nearly thought himself at home, something strange happened that made him stare: far more people wore deep hoods and cloaks than would have been acceptable in Italia, for example; mages walked the streets accompanied by their animal familiars – no matter whether they were birds, raptors, or predators and grazers large and small – with no one in the street even batting an eye, and the wares exhorted by street vendors to passersby were definitely _not_ what he was accustomed to.

"Come closer, ladies and gents; you can get any and all of your alchemical ingredients here! I've still got eye of newt and some toe of frog left to be sold! Four bronze coins the tablespoon! First come, first get! Or leeches, are you looking for leeches? There's even some goblin blood if you're interested, freshly decanted! Purest stuff you'll find anywhere in the city, on my honour!"

Ezio stared incredulously at the hollering merchant behind his stall before turning to Louise. "Goblin blood?!" he hissed into her ear.

She just shrugged unconcernedly as they walked on. "It has some quite useful alchemical properties. I think it's also used as a solvent, but I never made use of it myself."

"What, do you have scruples about using a living animal's blood?"

She wrinkled her nose. "No, it just smells vile. It takes weeks to get the stench off your hands. Gross. So, who are we looking for again?"

Ezio shook his head, deciding not to fight the madness. "A smith called Théoleyre," he answered.

"There's a smith down that road, I think," Louise said smartly, pointing to another part of the market district.

"Do you think that it's him?"

"No, but most of the smiths are organized in one of the city's guilds. If Agnès's friend," Louise scowled briefly, "is a member, then we'll find him quickly if we just ask around."

"Smart," Ezio said approvingly.

"I have my moments," Louise said dryly.

Soon they heard the sound of striking hammers, and they found an open shop with apprentices fashioning on an anvil. The owner spotted potential customers, and his grin widened.

"_Buongiorno, signore!"_ Ezio called out cheerfully. "We were wondering if you could help us find something we're looking for!"

"If you're looking for tools, I quite possibly have the best in the city!" the smith answered with an easy grin. "Hammers, sickles, nails, scythes, saws – anything you might possibly want to fulfil your needs! Is it anything like that, monsieur?"

"If I ever plan on becoming a carpenter, I'll return," Ezio answered easily. "However, I was looking for something else. Or someone, rather."

The smith's grin grew disappointed. "I sell tools, not gossip."

Ezio made a small movement of his hand, and a silver coin danced across his knuckles. "I'll make it worth your while, _signore_."

"Ask away, then."

"I'm looking for a colleague of yours. A man called Théoleyre."

The smith's face fell. "_Théoleyre?_ What could you possibly want with _him_?!"

Ezio frowned. "He was recommended to me by an acquaintance."

"Some strange acquaintances you have, monsieur!" the smith scoffed.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because the man is crazy!" The smith twirled a finger near his temple. "Completely touched in the head!"

"That's a strange thing to say about a fellow smith," Louise cut in.

"Begging your pardon, mademoiselle, but that lunatic is no fellow of mine!" the smith retorted, looking offended. "That old curmudgeon has refused to join any of the guilds, saying that he had no truck with changing his prices according to the whims of fools! He only ever makes the things he pleases, he chases after dreams and fantasies, and his prices are exorbitant! It's a wonder he manages to stay in business!"

"And if I wanted to look for him anyway?" Ezio asked, idly flipping his silver coin up and down.

The smith scowled. "Go down the Rue Saint-Benoît; you'll find his shop easily enough. But if you're looking for a _true_ armourer and weaponsmith, I can refer you to a few good colleagues of mine—"

"_Mille grazie, signore_, but that won't be necessary," Ezio said with a polite smile, flipping the coin at him. "Have a good day."

And before the smith could say another word, the Florentine had steered away his mistress by the shoulder.

"Well, that was encouraging," Louise commented wryly.

"Very," he agreed.

"…Ezio, I was being sarcastic."

"And I was not."

"You do know that going to a smith not affiliated with any guild usually means bad workmanship, right?" Louise asked archly.

"Usually, that would be true. But this man has refused to join any of city's guilds and yet manages to keep his business afloat. There must be something special about his ware that attracts customers. And I don't think Agnès would have recommended me to a hack."

"And how can you be so sure, pray?"

"Call it instinct. Besides," he continued, ruffling her blond hair with a laugh, "I have a certain fondness for outsiders, remember?"

"Haha, very funny," she grumbled as she shot him a glare. "You know, usually outsiders are outsiders for a reason— Hey! Watch where you're walking, you oaf!"

The man who had stumbled into her turned around and affected a sloppy bow. "Sorry, milady," he muttered lowly. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Louise snapped, and the man nodded, keeping his head low as he turned around and walked away. "Clumsy fools everywhere…"

Ezio smirked. "I thought he was quite nimble, actually."

Louise blinked, confused. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, considering he was able to snatch your purse without you noticing…"

Louise grabbed at her belt, her eyes suddenly going as wide as saucers. _"THIEF!"_

Down the road, the pickpocket began to run.

Ezio laughed, taking off after him. "I'll see you at the shop, Louise!"

He hurtled around the corner of the street the thief had run off into, disappearing from view. Louise scowled, letting her head drop into her palm. She spent the rest of her way to the Rue Saint-Benoît muttering about the stupidity of her smart-tongued familiar.

…

There was a thrill to the chase.

Ezio hated to admit it to himself, but it was true enough. Whenever he was fighting, there was a dark part of his mind that relished the sight of flowing blood, the rush of success when he managed to trick his foe with a particularly difficult manoeuvre, or the vicious satisfaction he felt when he left behind a strew of corpses, his enemies begging for mercy when they had been trying to kill him only moments before. Sometimes he granted it, sometimes he didn't.

Still, once the heady feeling had worn off, he always felt solemn and sometimes a little sick. The dying men often called for their mothers, their wives and their children with their last breaths, their twitching eyes begging for their fate not to be true.

Some of the people that Ezio had murdered in his life had given him no choice but to do so, swarming him in their attempts to end his life. Others had been vicious, cruel, and petty, and Ezio had no qualms to end theirs.

Still, it didn't change the fact that many of the men he killed had been fathers, brothers, and sons to grieving families and friends. Ezio had accepted the twinges of regret as the sacrifice he paid for his choice to live as an Assassin.

Death was part of his creed. Whether it was his own, or that of others, didn't particularly matter.

Chasing after a pickpocket that had stolen his young friend's money gave him a very similar rush, though, with none of the regrets and doubts. Ezio grinned as he raced through the crowded street, scattering a group of well-dressed merchants out of his way. He had never felt guilt at teaching an uppity thief a lesson.

"_Ladro, ladro!"_ he bellowed at the top of his voice. "Thief!"

When the citizens heard the call, they scattered out of the way. A few burly workers didn't, however, spreading out and barring a narrow stretch of the street menacingly, cracking their knuckles. The thief stopped dead in his tracks, looking around wildly.

"My friend's money, _per favore_," Ezio called out cheerfully, slowing down as he approached.

When the thief heard him, he bolted sideways, scrambling up the façade of a storefront and lifting himself up a windowsill. Ezio blinked and swore, running after him as the man climbed up the building like an agile monkey.

'_I _really_ should have expected that,'_ he thought ruefully.

Soon, he hauled himself onto the roof with a pull of the hookblade, and he saw the thief cross the gable as fast as his feet could carry him. Ezio was after him in a flash before he lost him from view.

In the race across the roofs of Tristain, Ezio realized another thing: he was fast. When he had climbed the monuments of Constantinople, he had often grown out of breath, his stamina far more easily spent than in his youth. Genuine fear and terror for his own life and for Sofia had given him the strength necessary to pull through, and experience had always trumped youth in his fights, but soon after his return to Italy and his marriage, every moderately strenuous movement became torture, his lungs flailed and his heart fluttered. Marcello and Flavia had quickly learned to be gentle when they played with their father.

But now, all his troubles were simply _gone_. His heart beat like a jackhammer, his muscles were fluid and strong, his natural grace was restored and his lungs greedily took in clean air like they never had before. Faster, stronger, _better_.

He let out a giddy laugh as he sailed over a narrow street after the thief, not even breaking stride as he landed. There was never a day when he didn't thank whatever strange power had restored his youth to him. He would have died soon after arriving in Halkeginia otherwise, he was sure of it.

The thief threw a look over his shoulder, and blanched even more when he saw the cloaked Assassin close on his heels. He turned on his heel and abruptly changed direction, leaping onto a lower roof, perhaps hoping to lose his pursuer in the winding alleys he knew far more intimately than him.

Ezio saw him jump and leapt like an eagle, arms wide.

He crashed into the thief mid-flight, tackling him onto the roof. The man's breath was driven from his lungs, the impact on the hard shingles undoubtedly painful.

Ezio wasted no time, grabbing him by the collar of his dirtied cloth shirt and dragging him to the edge of the roof. He easily dangled him over empty air with one hand. He was now the only thing between the man and a nasty fall down six floors.

"_Buongiorno, mio amico!"_ he said cheerfully, shaking him back to full consciousness. "You have something belonging to a friend of mine, I believe!"

"Mercy!" the man begged, eyes full of naked terror as he tried to grab onto the roof's edge with his toes. "Mercy, monseigneur!"

Ezio shook him again, and the man squealed in fear. "Give me my friend's money, and we shall be even."

The thief reached with shaking hands into a dirty pocket, throwing Louise's money pouch at him. "Here! Have it back! Please don't hurt me, milord!"

"One thing at a time," Ezio said, tightening his grip on the man's collar before it could slip. "I have a few questions to ask you first."

"Monseigneur, I'm just a simple thief!" the man whined.

"And I am that you know more about this city than any noble ever will. Tell me, do you scum have a guild in this city?"

"…What do you mean?"

Ezio loosened his grip just the slightest, and the man dropped an inch. He screamed, grabbing at Ezio's arm in a blind panic.

"You know exactly what I mean, _canaglie_!" he roared. "Do you thieves have a guild, a leader, a council!? Answer me!"

"Roberto!" the thief wailed, shaking like a leaf. "Roberto is our leader, milord! Mercy, I beg of you!"

Ezio drew him close, glaring. "Where can I find him?"

"At the Charming Fairies' Inn! You can find him there!" The man was weeping in terror, having long ago soiled himself. "Milord, I'm just a thief," he begged piteously. "The lord back home took my plot of land long ago, and I took to thievery out of hunger! Mercy, I beg you!"

Ezio shrugged, a cold smile on his face. "There are better ways to live your life than stealing from naive young women." He let go, giving him a light push. "_Arrivederci._"

The man dropped to the street with a hideous scream.

Instead of breaking his neck and spine on the cobblestones, however, he crashed into the cart of hay that had just passed in the street below. He looked up at the Assassin far above him, stunned.

Ezio gave him a smirk and a cheeky wave, disappearing over the roofs of the city.

…

Louise was getting more and more annoyed by the minute.

Considering that her base emotional level was one of mild irritation with the world, expressed through explosions of varying sizes, this meant that she was getting increasingly frazzled every time she was jostled around by passing crowds thronging the narrow streets of the capital. Or when she nearly got trodden to bloody paste by couriers cavalcading by on horseback. Or when passing carts and noble's carriages kicked up dust and dirt that covered her from head to toe and destroyed any sense of dignity she may have had left after travelling and living on the road for three days.

What annoyed her more at the moment, though, was the fact that she seemed to be going in circles, seeing as she hadn't managed to find that strange forge Ezio had been looking for.

"Rue Saint-Benoît, Rue Saint-Benoît…" Louise muttered under her breath, scowling. "This information would be _so_ much more helpful if it wasn't one little street and alley out of _hundreds_ in the city! Honestly! How do people get around all day not knowing where they are—"

She looked up at the heavens in supplication, spotting a large shop sign with a hammer striking an anvil above her.

The young noble blinked. "Oh," she muttered. "_That_ helps, I suppose."

She patted herself down, ridding herself of most of the dust on her uniform – no common smith was going to see a scion of the Vallière family in indignity, certainly not! – before lifting up her chin and throwing open the door to the shop, head held high.

It was dark inside; that was the first thing she noticed. Entering from the brightly lit outside street, the dim interior might as well have been pitch black to her. As Louise's eyes adjusted, she started to make out a few details. The shop had a high ceiling and was long and narrow, plunging into the building.

That wasn't the thing that caught Louise's immediate attention, though. Its walls were clogged from front to end with racks filled with a variety of nasty-looking weapons that glimmered in the darkness: blades of all makes, shapes and sizes; warhammers and maces that made her positively ill as she imagined their vicious spikes breaking open a living man's skull; and rows of spearheads, javelin tips, and sharpened pike blades yet unfastened to their poles, but nonetheless looked sharp and pointy enough to pierce and tear flesh.

The shop was also, once she had managed to tear away her eyes from the many weapons to peer deeper into the shop, yawningly empty.

"H… Hello?" she called out, her voice quavering uncertainly. "Is anyone there?"

She heard a whooshing sound, and a fountain of sparks flew high into the air, the sudden, incandescent light stinging her eyes and making her flinch. In the sudden brightness, she saw the silhouette of a large man wearing a thick leather apron and even thicker leather gloves, a hammer held in one hand as he stood at the forge located at the very back of the shop, behind a counter. The smith held up the length of metal gripped in his other hand, his face twisted in a rictus of concentration as he inspected its colour. He never seemed to notice her.

The long metal piece, still glowing red-hot from where it had been heated in the coals of the forge, was swiftly placed upon the large anvil placed before it. The hammer came down, and the noise of metal striking metal was harsh, loud, echoing in the narrow confines of the forge, and it very nearly burst Louise's ear drums.

She clapped her hands over her ears, grimacing as the hammer came down again and again with a deafening clang. She tried shouting over the noise, but it didn't help at all. It was doubtful the smith had even noticed her in the darkness of his shop, really.

The student thought about simply hexing an explosion at or near him to get his attention, but decided against it. One, because it would have been terribly rude, and two, because she wanted to buy the man's wares. He'd be unwilling to do that if she scared him into dropping a piece of red-hot metal on his foot.

So she instead simply marched up to the counter, shouting as loudly as she could over the sounds of the hammer striking metal. "Excuse me! _EXCUSE! ME!_ I was looking for a smith called Thélo—"

"Shut the fock up, lass!" the man bellowed back, making her jump. He stuck the metal back into the coals of the forge, furiously pumping the bellows. "Can't ye see tha' I'm workin' on a new sort'a steel?! Wait yer turn like everyone else!"

Louise's birdlike chest swelled indignantly. "Well, I never—"

The man turned to look at her, and the look in his eyes made her quail, magic or no. "_Shut it_, I said, or get lost! It's all the same ter me!"

She stepped back, saying nothing and just glaring at him. The smith ignored her entirely, energetically pumping the bellows for a few more minutes, the only sounds being the regular rush of air, the crackle of the coals, and the hiss of the bellows.

When he pulled the steel out of the coals again (Louise felt a hot wind rush past her and she had to step back – so scorching was the forge's heat), the metal glowing even redder than before, the smith eagerly inspected it, peering at it with one wrinkled eye.

He snorted in disgust a moment later, plunging the length of metal into a trough of water. "Another failure," he muttered to himself, raising the hissing length of metal over his shoulder and flinging it onto a pile of similarly deformed scraps, the roughly forged piece of metal impacting with a series of rattling clangs. The smith frowned at thin air. "That ore dinnae work either, did it? Shame… I thought I nailed it this time, I really did…"

"Excuse me," Louise interrupted him icily. "But I think you've ignored me for long enough."

The smith stopped scratching the bald crown of his head, peering down at her. He snorted, taking off his gloves. "Perhaps I have nae ignored ye long enough yet, lass. Ye look as if people pay far too much attention to you already, in any case."

He stepped up to the counter of his shop, slamming a hand down on its top. The lights sprang on, flickering lights caught behind glass cages giving the entire room a dim, gloomy gleam, with shadows dancing on the walls.

The smith had appeared… differently when he had hammered on the piece of metal at his forge. He had seemed like a god at the edge of light and darkness, shaping the way of the earth with nothing more than his own hands and broad shoulders.

He looked a lot smaller now, though he was by no means short. Louise barely reached his chest, and he was at least four or five times as wide as she was, all thick and broad-shouldered, his muscles rippling underneath his forger's wear. His bicep was as least as thick as her head.

The smith had dark hair and eyes, the former looking as if it had decided to wander from his crown to his jaw, leaving him with a bald head gleaming with the heat of the forge and a finely braided black beard hanging all the way to his belt buckle. It was safely tucked inside his forger's apron, and as the smith freed it with a muttered curse, Louise spotted all kinds of ornaments plaited into it – finely decorated pieces of metal that glinted with many colours in the faint light, small carved pieces of wood depicting beasts of prey, and other things she wasn't able to recognize.

He crossed his thick arms as he considered her, his feet planted firmly onto the stone floor of his forge. His dense, dark eyebrows were furrowed over his small, narrowed eyes as he shamelessly looked her up and down. He didn't appear particularly impressed.

"…So, what can ol' Théoleyre do fer ye, lass?"

Louise stood up, glaring at him imperiously. "I have a friend who is looking to have some pieces of armour repaired."

The smith's eyebrows climbed up. "Armour? I'm a weaponsmith, lass, not an armourer. If ye want a sword, a mace, a pike, I can make all o' those for ye. Armour, though? Tha's none o' my business."

"We were recommended to you by an acquaintance," Louise said, looking up at the smith with distaste. "From what I've seen and heard of you so far, I cannot possibly understand why."

The smith barked out a sharp laugh. "Hah! People talk all the time, missy. Blabberin', gossipin', hagglin'… Everyone got summat ter say or summat ter sell, and they all lie through their teeth with a smile ter do it. Why would ye ever believe anything anyone tries to tell ye?"

"Because I'm trying not to waste my money on fools!" Louise snapped back. "What kind of tradesman are you, anyway!?"

"One who doesn't give a shite about whatever anyone thinks," the smith said, glowering at her, his eyes glinting like a dark beetle's shell in the eerie light. "I make weapons, and I make 'em well. Tha's all I need ter know."

"Well said," a voice called out as the door slammed shut. Louise turned around to see Ezio walk towards them, looking at the two of them with amusement. "Well said indeed, _signore_."

"And who the hell are you?" Théoleyre asked gruffly, taking Ezio's measure and scowling.

Ezio put on his most charming smile, something that Louise had only seen him do when he was talking to that maid. "Someone who wishes to do business with you."

"Bloody nancyboy," the smith snorted disdainfully. He uncrossed his arms, flexing his fingers. "Whaddaya want, then? I don't have a lot of time for ye lot."

"I am looking for a sword."

Louise frowned. "What? Ezio, weren't we here for—"

The Assassin held up a hand, not taking his eyes off the smith and still smiling pleasantly. "Later, Louise. Now, as I said, I am looking for a sword. _Per favore_."

The smith rolled his eyes, walking around the counter to approach one of the walls hung with weapons. "I'll give ye a sword, sure," he muttered quietly under his breath, but Louise heard him anyway. "If ye even know ter use it, that is… Aha!"

He unhooked a long, golden blade with an elaborately decorated guard from the wall. As he carefully lifted it up, Louise could see the silvery inlay in the blade forming lines of flames running along the blade in exquisite detail. She held her breath. It looked beautiful.

Théoleyre turned around, proffering it to the Florentine with a smug grin and a mocking bow. "That blade fine enough for ye, _milord_?"

Ezio gripped its hilt and examined it for a brief moment, giving the weapon a few experimental one-handed swings. He grimaced. _"Pezzo di merda."_

Théoleyre's face fell, changing from from smug satisfaction to stunned disbelief. "…What?"

"This weapon," Ezio pronounced with disgust as he held the blade up to his eyes, "is a piece of shit. _Pezzo di merda._ That's what we call workmanship like this in my home, _signore_."

The smith cracked his knuckles, glaring at the thinner Florentine murderously. Louise hurriedly stepped out of the way. "You'd better 'ave a really good excuse for you talkin' like tha' to me, laddie," Théoleyre said slowly, his brogue growing thicker. "Men 'ave died before for less, you know."

"Then they died because they tried to fight with one of your swords," Ezio said flippantly, swinging the sword again. "This blade was not forged; it was moulded, no? It is nothing more than a slab of metal attached to a grip. This weapon has no balance at all, it's too heavy, and it's nearly impossible to swing without falling over. How am I supposed to use this in battle, _per favore_? The edge may be sharpened, yes, but just enough to make it _appear_ as if it could cut through something thicker a sheet of parchment. And do you see this?"

Ezio put the weapon over his knee, pushing down harshly on both ends. There was a metal shriek, and Louise watched in horror as cracks spread all over the length of the gilded blade.

"…No ability to bend at all," Ezio pronounced after a moment. "This weapon would have shattered after a few parries."

With a simple twist of his wrist, Ezio threw the weapon in the air and caught it just as easily as it came down, holding out the weapon pommel-first to its maker with a thin smile. "It looks beautiful, _certo_. But that makes it nothing more than a perfumed piece of shit. Would you not agree, _signore_?"

The smith stepped closer and stared Ezio right in the eye, flexing his thick fingers meaningfully. Ezio just stared back, still smiling pleasantly, though his grip on the sword tensed.

'_That's it, then,'_ Louise thought glumly as she tried to edge away_. 'Death by annoyed commoner. Never really thought that would happen to me, to be honest.' _

And then another voice burst out into cackling laughter. "HAHAHAHAHA! Oh, Founder preserve me, I never thought I'd see the day that someone had the cart-sized balls to say that to your face, old man! Oh, Lordy!"

"Shut up, will ye?!" the smith bellowed, looking towards the wall of weapons with an angry glare. "Who asked yer damn opinion anyway, ye ol' piece o' junk!?"

"Piece of junk?" the voice retorted, sounding outraged. "How dare you call me that, you half-arsed Northern anvil-banger! I'm the great Derflinger, that's who I am!"

"Nothin' great about you 'cept your ego," Théoleyre snapped back, scowling. "I thought we agreed on you shuttin' that trap of yers when I 'ave customers in the shop, didn't we?"

"That was before I saw my new best friend over there take apart that showpiece of yours," the sword said gleefully, quivering on its hooks in something like mirth. "Oh, you should'a seen your face, old man! Priceless!"

"Excuse me, _signori_," Ezio interrupted mildly. "But… is that sword talking?"

The sword's sheath rattled. "Course I'm talking! Ain't it obvious, pal?"

"Ah. I see." The Florentine scrunched up his face and shrugged. "_Bene_, all things considered, this is probably one of the least confusing things I have seen so far in this country…"

"Swords aren't supposed to talk," Louise muttered under her breath, kneading the bridge of her nose. She was also pretty sure that her blood pressure was going through the roof, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to care. "Seriously, Ezio. I have known you for a few weeks now. First, you turn up out of the blue as a _human_ familiar, which is supposed to be impossible. Then you start flying without magic. _Then_ Fouquet attacks, and you manage to track her down and kill her, even though you're a commoner."

She looked up, glowering at him from under her brow. "And now, you walk into the _one_ shop in this gigantic city that has a sentient, _talking_ sword in it. Something that isn't supposed to be possible, either."

Ezio shot her an amused glance. "…Would you believe me if I told that it _still_ was not the strangest month I ever had?"

"I'm not surprised," she groaned, throwing up her arms. "I'm just wondering when this madness will end, and how."

"Sounds like you had a pretty interesting life, buddy," the sword said cheerfully. "Care to share some of your stories? I got a few good ones, myself!"

"Maybe later," Ezio told the weapon politely. "I only came here to have my armour repaired, and then we have other errands to run."

"Shucks," the sword muttered with a quiver of its quillon, sounding disappointed. "But you'll be coming back, won'tcha?"

"That depends entirely on whether _Messer_ Théoleyre is as skilled a craftsman as Agnès claimed him to be." Ezio shot the brittle weapon in his hand a significant glance. "Right now, I am not convinced."

"Agnès?" the smith asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Ye're not talkin' 'bout Agnès de Rouvroy, by any chance? The chevalier leading the Musketeers up at the Royal Palace?"

"That's her," Louise said, frowning. "You know her?"

A booming laugh escaped Théoleyre's mouth. "Know her? Hell, I'm the one who made the swords for her lads and lasses! She's always been a good customer to me!"

"But this sword—"

"This sword," Théoleyre interrupted, snatching the gilded weapon out of Ezio's hands, "is summat I keep around ter screw over those idiots stupid enough ter go straight for the first shiny bit o' steel they see." The smith casually tossed the blade over his shoulder, where it landed with a loud crash on the scrap metal pile.

"Piece o' shit that impresses arseholes that know nothin' 'bout fighting. And if they get themselves killed using it…" His beard twisted in what might have been a savage grin. "Well, usually, they're not around to complain anymore. Good riddance, if ye ask me."

"…You must not have many customers," Ezio said with what Louise thought was probably all the tact he could muster.

"Bah!" Théoleyre scoffed, waving him off. "The customers that know their blades, those I like. At least they appreciate my craft!"

"_Davvero?_" Ezio asked politely. "So far, I find that hard to believe."

"This is what happens if you keep being an asshole, old man!" the sword called out merrily from the side. "Told you it would happen sooner or later!"

"Shut it, Derflinger! Ye're ruining my reputation here!"

"The only reputation you have is that of a curmudgeon, you old Germanian jerk-off! Not much to ruin there, if you ask m—Hey, hey, hey, _no you don't_—"

Théoleyre had marched over, slammed the sword home in its sheath and silencing its voice. He turned around, an expression of relief on his bearded face. "Sorry 'bout that, that thing almost never shuts its trap…" He crossed his arms again, considering master and familiar with a speculative eye. "Well, if Agnès sent ye here, then that must mean she thinks you're worth _something_. So, what do ye need? I've got daggers, swords, maces, some two-handed weapons if you think bigger is better in b—"

"Armour_, per favore_," Ezio interrupted politely but firmly, loosening the clasps on one of his cracked shin bracers and holding it out to the smith. "Just a few repairs. That's all I want."

"Really?" the smith said, sounding disappointed. "Why would ye come to _me_ for armour? I'm a weaponsmith, boy, not an armourer."

Louise frowned. "There's a difference?"

Théoleyre rolled his eyes. "As big a difference as between night and day, lass. Can't ask someone tha' only knows how to shape steel into blades to suddenly make a breastplate, can ye? Different process entirely. Needs different skills, too."

"Just take a look, please," Ezio insisted, still holding out the piece of black armour.

"Fine," the smith muttered as he accepted it, scowling. "But dinnae be surprised if I…" He quieted as he ran his palm over the gold-tinted piece shin bracer, his eyes focussing sharply as he examined it intently, turning the shin guard over and over in his hands.

Louise sidled over to Ezio. "Think he's finally gone crazy enough for us to leave?" she whispered, annoyed. "Or did you expect something else to happen?"

Ezio shrugged. "I just heard a talking sword. How am I supposed to know what I should expect, _piccina_?"

"Where did ye find this armour?" Théoleyre said sharply, his eyes narrowing.

"It was my ancestor's. Why do you ask?"

"This isn't just ordinary steel," the smith said half to himself and half to his audience, holding up the piece of armour to the eerie light of his workshop. "It looks like it, sure, but there's something about it… It's lighter than steel, but firmer and more flexible at the same time… I'd say it was Elvish make, but that can't be true…"

"This was made by men," Ezio interrupted calmly. "Not elves."

"That so? Good!" A grin broke out on the smith's face. "That means I can recreate it!" He turned on the ball of his heel. "Gaston!" he roared into the back of his shop, making Louise jump. "Get your sorry arse over here, will ye?!"

There was a dull crash of metal from somewhere beyond the forge and a door slammed open moments later, revealing a wiry, harried-looking youth wearing leather gloves and a thick metal-plated apron. "You called, master?"

"Oi, kiddo, are ye still trying to make that weird armour of yers when I'm not looking?"

The youth flushed even darker than the heat of the forge would have suggested, shuffling his feet. "Er, well, I hoped you wouldn't notice—"

"Good! Ye've got a new job!" Théoleyre threw the piece of armour at his apprentice, who fumbled to catch it. "Ye've always been good at squirrelling out what sort of metals are in a blade, haven't ye? Think ye can do the same here?"

The youth ran his hands over the metal, his eyes scrunched close and his head tilted, as if listening to something only he could hear. He opened his eyes again, his expression clear. "I think I can, master," he said slowly. "It'll take time, though."

"Right on. Hop to it, will ye?"

"Yes, master! Right away!" He turned towards them, sketching a sloppy bow towards Ezio and Louise and grinning awkwardly at her. "Milord, milady…"

"He's a good lad," Théoleyre said as Gaston disappeared through the doorway into the back of the shop. "Bit clumsy, but his skill makes up for it."

"Why do you think he can fix my armour when you cannot?" Ezio asked sceptically.

"He's the bastard son of an Earth mage, that's why."

Louise blinked. "What?"

Théoleyre sighed, running a hand over his bald crown. "Poor sod came to me, all thin and starving, begging me to take him in. Said his mother had died, and there was no father. I'm not one for charity, but he could tell the make of a blade just by touching it. Useful."

"That doesn't mean he's a noble's bastard!" Louise argued heatedly.

"Hah! What kind of rock have _you_ lived under, lass? There's thousands of children like 'im in this city alone. None of them ever learned to control their powers. They get… a bit wonky. Develop strange skills. Like Gaston did." The smith shrugged his broad shoulders. "Now he's my apprentice. He'll make a fine smith in the future, Founder willing."

Ezio scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And you think he can repair my armour?"

"He'll certainly try, and he 'as the skills. Armour was never my thing, but I'll help him once he's figgered out how that armour was forged." A smug grin flashed across the smith's features. "Unless, of course, ye know any other smith recommended by Agnès in this city."

"Touché," Ezio conceded with a grumble, beginning to unclasp the pieces of armour on his person. "How long?"

"Come back in a few days," Théoleyre said, scooping up the pieces of armour and carefully laying them out on the countertop. "Should be enough time for the lad to sort it out."

"_Suona bene._"

"Ye need anything else?"

Louise wanted to do nothing more than leave this broody cave masquerading as a shop, but she saw Ezio's eyes flickering at her in a speculative manner. "The little one needs a sword."

"Ezio!" she hissed. "Can't we just _go_ already?!"

"If you think that we are going to just visit _signore_ Roberto and his friends for a nice little chat and biscuits, then you are being naïve, _piccina_," he said mildly. "You need a weapon to defend yourself if things go awry."

"I'm a mage," she said scornfully. "I don't need a sword if I've got my wand."

"Then why did you ask me to teach you swordplay?"

She fell silent, crossing her arms and huffily looking away. "…I am _not_ little."

The smith snorted with poorly disguised laughter. "A sword for the not-so-little lass, comin' right up." He turned towards the racks of weapons hung on the wall, eyeing them thoughtfully. "Lessee what we got 'ere…"

Louise soon found all sorts of instruments of death shoved into her hands: thin rapiers whose points dragged on the ground when she sheathed them, viciously curved falchions that felt far too heavy in her hands, and spiked maces and hammers that she had no idea how to wield properly. Others were better, but the balance felt off – she had a feeling that few people with her small size and strength ever wielded anything bigger than a large knife or dagger, and it was reflected in the store's stock.

"That is not the right weapon for you, _piccina_," Ezio said with a chuckle as she tried to lift a two-handed sword.

"I _know_," she snapped angrily, blowing a strand of hair of her eyes and glaring. "Why don't you let me try something shorter?"

The sword rattled on its hooks in laughter. "Well, well, well! Apparently, some ladies these days like them short! Who knew?"

"Stow it already, Derflinger," Théoleyre retorted, not even deigning to turn around. "Unless ye have any suggestions, I suggest you stay out of this."

"Something one-handed, no more than three feet in length, simple crossguard, not too heavy, balanced blade for both slashing and thrusting," Derflinger said promptly. Silence fell as the three others stared at the blade. "What? You told me to shut up _unless_ I had any suggestions. Can't shut me up now, can you?"

Ezio chose to ignore that last question. "…Do you have any weapon like the one the sword suggested?"

"The name's Derflinger, by the way. No need to thank me."

"Let me just take a look," Théoleyre muttered. "I'm sure I have some arming swords in that corner—"

"No need to look any further, old man," Derflinger interrupted cheerfully. "The fella already has the perfect sword for her on his belt!"

Louise went beet red at the insinuation, but before she could explode in a tirade against the sword, she saw Ezio drawing his eagle-beaked sword, eyeing it solemnly for a moment. He then held it out to her, grip first. "Try it."

She stared at him, knowing how important that sword was to him and opening her mouth to protest, but he insisted with a nod, looking back into her eyes with complete seriousness. She just closed her mouth and reached for the silvery sword.

The moment she felt the dark leather wrapped firmly around the grip, she knew that this sword was absolutely _perfect_ for her. It was lighter than any of the smith's blades, but with enough weight so that its blows would be felt, and perfectly balanced. The blade was long enough to extend her reach, but not long enough to be unwieldy.

As she swung it, it didn't exactly sing like the beautiful magical swords of the storybooks she had read as a child, but the menacing hiss as it cut through the air was still music to her ears.

She heard a clattering chuckle. "Well, looks like the little lady found her blade!"

Louise blinked, finding her way back to reality, and found herself in one of the guard positions Ezio had taught her only two weeks ago. The Florentine and the smith just watched her with faint amusement.

She quickly dropped the weapon to her side, clearing her throat.

"…It's a good sword," she said defensively when they kept grinning.

Ezio laughed quietly. "That is it is," he agreed, stepping forward and taking the hand gripping the sword in his own, falling to one knee. He held on long after he was done correcting her grip with a few quick nudges.

"…Ezio?"

He looked up abruptly, smiling weakly at her. "This sword, _piccina_," he said quietly, "belonged to my ancestor over three hundred years ago. It has accompanied me on my travels across many countries and continents, and it has always faithfully protected me from my foes." He chuckled. "It also was quite useful in impressing pretty ladies."

She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. "As if you ever needed a sword to do _that_."

"Oh, believe me, the ladies like swords." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "It does not matter how long it is, admittedly, but rather how well you use it—"

She hit him with the flat of the blade, smiling. "Prat."

He tried to look wounded. "Who, me? Never. _In ogni caso_," he continued, his smile flickering out, "like I said, this sword is important to me." He raised her hand with the sword still in its grip. "What do you see, _piccina_?"

She examined the beautifully decorated crossguard and pommel closely, running her fingers over the finely crafted metal. "An eagle's head," she finally said. "And its wings."

"My ancestor was called Altair Ibn-la'Ahad," Ezio said, the foreign tongue flowing eerily like a song. He smiled as he anticipated her question. "Yes, Louise, it means 'Flying Eagle', just like my own name. This blade was made for him alone. For many years, it was thought lost, plundered by a horde of barbarians and carried off to foreign lands like common loot."

"So why do you have it?" she asked quickly, trying to hide her burgeoning curiosity. Ezio had mentioned he had a wife and children, but rarely spoke of them, and had spoken even less of his past before them.

He shrugged. "I came across it by accident, and took it back. It has rarely left my side since." He smirked. "And when my enemies tried to relieve me of it, they always paid dearly in blood."

"…So why give it to me?"

Ezio shrugged, smiling helplessly. "You need a good sword to defend yourself with. I know none superior to this one." He ran a hand along the smooth silver metal with a certain fondness. "Take good care of it, _d'accordo_? I might want to see it returned someday."

She remembered his condition asking her to send his possessions home should he die, and she nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. "I promise."

He held her hand for a moment more and looked her in the eyes, smiling.

"Aw, and now she's blushing!" the talking sword cooed, making Louise jump when she remembered that they weren't quite alone. "How cute! Can we keep her, old man? Say we can, come on!"

"She doesn't belong to us, Derf," Théoleyre rumbled, the smith's beard twitching. "And what would an ol' piece o' scrap metal like you want with a lass like that, in any case?"

"Hey, that old piece of scrap metal knew what was best for your client better than you did, old man!" Derflinger reminded him cheerfully. "Strike… four-hundred-and-twenty-two to nil, I think. So you can just go and suck on my p—"

"Derf!"

"—ommel, I was about to say pommel! Hell, what did you think I was going to say?"

Théoleyre started rubbing his thick nose angrily, growling under his breath. "Derf, I swear that I'm going to sell ye to the next bastard who's willing to take ye off my hands!"

"How much for the talking sword?"

The smith's face snapped up and he stared at Ezio as the Assassin got to his feet. "…Wha'?"

"How much for the talking sword?" Ezio repeated with an amused smirk. "Now that I've given mine to the little mistress, I need a weapon of my own, no?"

"And you're choosin' _tha'_ sword out of all the others in my shop?" Théoleyre asked incredulously, jutting out a thumb at the chatty blade.

"Hey! That just shows he's got taste!"

"Shut up, Derf," the smith snapped. He peered suspiciously at the Florentine. "Why do ye want that sword, milord? And answer truthfully. I cannae abide liars and oathbreakers."

Louise wanted to snap at the smith to tell him that he had no business questioning a noble's familiar, but before she could, Ezio had marched over to the wall and deftly drawn the talking sword from its sheath, swinging it with practiced ease in one hand. Derflinger remained silent.

"…Double-edged, well-made fuller," he pronounced after a moment of examining the blade. He weighed the weapon in his hand. "Longer than an arming sword, but shorter than a two-handed _spadone_."

The Assassin gripped the hilt with both hands and brought the point to bear with a single explosive thrust, then bringing it down in a sharp slash with a single twist of the wrists. "…Balanced weight for cut and thrust, good edge, armour-piercing point, and," he continued, experimentally juggling the weapon from one hand to another with ease, "it's light enough that I can use it either one-handed or two-handed."

"…Heh," Derflinger spoke up, the rattling voice sounding genuinely impressed. "You sure know your swords, pal, you truly do."

Ezio smirked. "I have had much opportunity to improve." He grabbed the blade by the ricasso over the crossguard, turning it around so that he could examine the surprisingly plain hilt. "You are well made, _signore_ Derflinger," he noted idly. "I am certain your creator was proud of you."

The crossguard hummed in a rueful chortle. "If I could remember who my creator was, perhaps then I'd know. But it's been so long… There's something familiar about you, pal."

"Is there?"

"Something I can't quite place…" The sword chuckled again. "Been a while since I met anyone that I could truly call partner. You up for it, pretty boy?"

"I have never owned a talking sword before," Ezio said with a grin. _"C'è una prima volta per tutto, no?"_

"No idea what the hell you just said, but I agree."

"Just wait for 'alf a damn moment!" Théoleyre interrupted, glaring. "That sword still belongs to me!"

"True enough," Ezio agreed, facing the smith without flinching. "And to answer your question, _Messere_: I would like to buy this sword because it is exactly what I need, and it fits me perfectly. There is no better sword than this one in your shop."

For a while, he and the smith were locked in a duel of wills, neither one willing to give way first.

Théoleyre harrumphed, uncrossing his arms and scratching his beard as he glanced away. "You know your swords, _das stimmt_," he grudgingly acknowledged. "A good eye for fine blades. A shame ye're not going to buy one of me creations, really… You would have been worthy to use them."

"How much for the talking sword?" Ezio repeated for the third time.

The smith laughed out loud. "A hundred écu d'or."

Louise goggled. That price was _ridiculously_ low for the alleged best weapon this shop had to offer. Good swords made by a master smith could cost well a _hundred_ times as much.

"That is rather cheap…" Ezio said warily.

"I bought that sword for that same sum 'bout thirty years ago from a caravan trader travellin' up from Romalia," Théoleyre said with a grin. "Usually, those bastards try ter haggle the pants off of ye, but this one took my first offer right away, not askin' any questions." He shot the sword a dour look. "Found out too late why. Damn thing wouldn't shut up, day or night!"

"I regret nothing," Derflinger declared.

"Neither do I, ye old chatterbox," Théoleyre grumbled. "Ye were a good friend ter have. Still, I've got to get my money back somehow, don'tcha agree?"

Ezio laughed out loud, reaching into his moneypurse and starting to count out a hundred golden coins onto the countertop. "Agreed, _Messere_ Théoleyre. I would loathe leaving you destitute."

"Ah, bugger off," the smith grumbled as he returned behind his counter. "As if I _needed_ nancyboy foreigners like you to support meself and me work. Cocksure youngsters, the lot of ye."

Louise smothered a laugh, turning away and feigning interest in the pikes hanging on the wall.

"_Novantasette… Novantotto… Novantanove… e cento scudi, bene!"_ Ezio declared happily. He shook Théoleyre's offered hand, twitching a bit from the smith's crushing grip. "_Mille grazie_, signore. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

"Just take tha' old piece o' scrap metal outta my sight," the smith said gruffly, shooing them away. "I got work ter do."

"Of course," Ezio said, bowing graciously. "We shall leave you to your endeavours, then. _Un piacere, davvero._"

Louise just nodded her goodbye, joining Ezio as he walked towards the door, purchase in hand.

"Oi, lass! Heads up!"

She whirled around only to see steel flash in the eerie light of the shop. Ezio snatched the foot-long dagger sailing out of the air before it could impale her, and Théoleyre roared with laughter. "On the house!" he called out, and before Louise could even think of drawing her wand, he had disappeared into the back of his shop, the lights winking out.

"How _dare_ he!" she hissed when Ezio unceremoniously pushed her out the front door. "He nearly killed me!"

Ezio shook his head, examining the dagger in his hand. "Don't speak nonsense, _piccina_," he rebuked her. "He expected me to catch it."

Derflinger laughed. "That's the old man, true enough. Always was a bit touched in the head, that one."

"Well, now I can understand why he doesn't have many customers!" Louise declared, fuming. She glanced at her familiar— _friend_, she reminded herself, _he's my friend_— wondering what was going through his mind. "…What now, though? Are we going to look for Roberto?"

"There's no need," Ezio said, flipping the dagger in his palm and holding it out to her. "I already know where to find him."

"What?! How?"

He grinned at her. "Magic! What else?"

"Ezio…" she growled, raising the dagger she had just snatched from his hand. Derflinger chuckled loudly, only raising her ire.

Ezio just laughed, nimbly dodging out of knife range. "Remember that pickpocket that stole your purse? He was rather talkative once I dangled him off a roof."

"So?"

"Roberto is a thief," Ezio said, relishing Louise's frustration. He began walking down the street, his little mistress hastening to follow him. "And not just any thief, mind you – apparently, he is their leader. Very important."

"And why does that mean we can't look for him now?"

"Thieves are reclusive people – it comes with the profession, I suppose. They only come out of hiding in the evenings and at night."

"But it's barely midday!"

"Enough time to go shopping!" Ezio cheerfully agreed, sweeping out an arm towards an open tailor's storefront and grinning at her. "Care to join me, _piccina_?"

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Louise followed him.

…

"I can't believe we just did that," Louise muttered under her breath.

Ezio had been humming an old tune he had heard in his youth, but now he turned to peer at the girl walking at his side. "Did what, _per favore_?"

Louise just shook her head, ignoring him in favour of marvelling at empty air. "Honestly, of all the people I expected to be as vain as a peacock, you were at the very bottom of my list."

"Vain?!" Ezio demanded incredulously. "Why would you ever say something like that?"

"We just spent _two hours_ at that tailor's shop," Louise answered, shaking her head again in despair. "Two hours of nothing more than putting on clothes, trying out colours and dyes, and seeing which bit of clothing goes best with the other! I've had _nightmares_ about getting dragged on trips like these with my sisters, you know!"

"And yet the result is so dashingly dapper and handsome, no?" Ezio said with a cheeky grin, throwing out his arms wide and turning to face her.

Louise looked him up and down, and she had to reluctantly agree that even though they had spent a lot of time at the tailor's, Ezio's presence had definitely changed. Gone was the ragged white cloak and hood thrown over his commoner's attire, replaced by elegantly tailored white robes that clung tightly to his body, the split layers of cloth running down all the way to his boots, allowing him free movement and comfort.

A white cloak with red lining fell comfortably from his shoulders and hung all the way down his back, flowing freely. When he walked slowly, it concealed the grisly array of weaponry Ezio carried on him at all times – his dagger, the varied sheathes of throwing knives, and the many pouches of knickknacks that she knew were far more dangerous than they looked – and the rough leather harness he had purchased to temporarily replace his ancestor's armour. The black handle and pommel of Derflinger poked from a sheath under his arm, in easy reach.

Louise glanced up only to see him study her with amusement out of the darkness of his hood, a design with a flap of cloth resembling an eagle's beak hanging over his face. Ezio had insisted as strongly on that detail when haggling with the tailor as he did on the open, red-lined collar, for some strange reason.

She scowled back, unwilling to voice out loud that instead of looking like a commoner putting on airs he didn't deserve, he could now easily be mistaken for someone of station and wealth. And, indeed, looked very striking.

"I guess you're… presentable now," she sniffed, turning away and continuing on down the street in the city's market district. "About time that happened, I'd say."

"Presentable, she says," Louise heard the annoyed Florentine mutter under his breath as he followed behind her. "About time it happened, she says… _Dio mi aiuti_, she's actually _worse_ than Christina…"

Derflinger cackled loudly. "Hah! Oh, she's a little firebrand, that one! I haven't had this much fun with a bunch of humans in ages, partner!"

"_Stai zitto!_ So," he addressed her loudly, and the grin in his voice was audible. "Do you like your new clothes too, _piccina_?"

And now there was another reason why the stay at the tailor's had been so galling to the youngest daughter of the Vallières. Once he had been fitted, Ezio, with his pouch still filled with the pickpocket's earnings, had insisted on buying her new clothes. Considering that her student uniform was never meant for rough travel on a horse for free days, she had reluctantly accepted.

What she _hadn't_ expected was for Ezio to grin mischievously at her and ask the tailor what he thought would fit her. Once the man began pulling out various reams of cloth, she knew that her cheeky familiar had set her up. The eager-to-please merchant was soon loudly speculating as to what certain clothes would fit her figure and went on to suggest various styles and clothes, one more outrageous than the other. She was forced to try them all on, even as Ezio stood grinning in the corner and Derflinger made suggestive comments designed to embarrass her.

After half an hour of this charade, she finally put her foot down and chose a pair of sturdy riding trousers and a blouse in simple white, and a long mage's cloak of the same colour with a hood to conceal her long hair and figure. A belt and sheath for her new sword and dagger complemented the picture, as did the leather armour cut down so that it fit her small frame, and the heavy rider's boots fitting snugly on her feet were quite menacing enough to give any thug pause.

It galled her that Ezio had immediately approved of the ensemble, and even more that he had cheerfully paid the tailor before she could speak up about it. Louise _hated_ feeling indebted to people. Her mother considered it weakness, and so did she.

Still, those new clothes…

"…They're nice," she conceded reluctantly, trying to get used to the unfamiliar trousers and pulling a face as she shifted awkwardly. "Still feels a bit weird, though."

"Now, now, _piccina_," Ezio said amiably. "Bear the indignity. Now you will be protected if someone tries to shove a blade into your chest, at the very least."

"No one will be able to peek up your skirt anymore, though," Derflinger mused aloud. "Shame, truth be told. Well, those new trousers do emphasize your lovely legs quite a bit—"

"Ezio," Louise bit out, "if you don't shut up that sword right now, I'll take it off you and throw it into the river."

"Hah, that's the worst you can think of, girl? I've spent decades stuck underwater before, and all I did was _rust_! Think of something more terrifying! Come on, bring it!"

"Play nice, children," Ezio chided them. "We have better things to do than squabbling."

"Such as?"

"Such as discovering the history of this city."

"Oh, you want to hear about the city's history?" Louise asked, and though she tried to hide it, her interest piqued.

She had always enjoyed reading history books, chronicles, and travellers' accounts of far-off lands – they were a distraction from her dreary life and constant failures, especially when she could imagine herself visiting these exotic foreign locales.

When she could imagine being anyone but herself, the Zero.

"Well," Louise began, trying to dredge up the details gleaned from books read long ago, "Brimir lead his followers out of the Homeland, beset by the elves, and once he was near death after driving them away, he decreed that his student sand sons should wander the world. Tristain and the capital were founded by the youngest of Brimir's sons, and—"

"Oh?" Ezio commented as they continued walking around the marketplace. "Do you really think that this is how it happened?"

She shot him an annoyed look. "Well, of course it is! How else could it have? Their power is based on their descent from Brimir! The royal line has been unbroken for centuries, after all. It's a sign of the Lord's favour."

"And no doubt there are _many_ pieces of parchment and scrolls written by long dead men documenting just what everyone wants to hear today," Ezio muttered.

Louise stopped dead, planting her hands on her hips and glaring. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean, Ezio?"

"It means, _piccina_," the Florentine said as he turned to face her, his expression even, "that history is often written by those who are left to write it."

She frowned. "Huh?"

"The ones who write the history books and chronicles," Ezio elaborated, "are those who vanquished their foes by force of arms, the ones who kept their records and destroyed those of their adversaries, and the ones that imposed their will on those they crushed."

"So? I don't understand what you're trying to tell me here, Ezio."

The Assassin's armoured hand scythed through the air in a dismissive gesture. "I am trying to tell you, _piccina_, that those histories and chronicles that you seem to adore so much were all written by men and women who had a stake in justifying their acts, their reigns, perhaps even their atrocities. Their accounts lack… clarity. Impartial judgement. Both little things and important details fall through the cracks, or they remain hidden behind long phrases and double meanings we cannot decipher. And when knowledge surfaces that contradicts what is previously known or believed… Well, sometimes it simply disappears."

"What, are you telling me that the history of my entire people might be nothing more than a pack of lies and half-truths?" She scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

Ezio studied her for a moment, his expression impassive. "…Do you know what I learned a long time ago, Louise?" He stepped closer, dropping his mouth to her ear and whispering. "Nothing is true."

She looked up at him quizzically, but he straightened his back and turned on his heel without another word. She started running after him. "Hey! Don't you want to hear the rest of the capital's story?"

"No need," Ezio said bluntly.

Louise suppressed the feeling of disappointment that welled up inside her. "Why not?"

Ezio stopped halfway along the side of the large open square in the market district, and he sat down on a bench set along the wall. He smiled at her, gesturing for her to join him. "All I need to know about the city, Louise, I can observe from here."

She shot him a sardonic look. "Oh, really? And how, pray?"

He smirked at her. "By listening."

She frowned, waiting for him to say more, but he simply leant forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands linked, falling silent as his hood fell over his eyes. She nudged him with her elbow, but Ezio didn't react at all as he seemed to observe the passersby.

After twenty minutes, she was fed up with his silence and ready to simply grab Ezio by the collar and shake him until he told her what he was playing at.

"What do you see, _piccina_?" he suddenly asked her before her temper lashed out.

She blinked, torn away from her annoyance. "A marketplace?"

Ezio smiled briefly. "True. And what can you tell me about this city by watching it?"

"As I said, it's a marketplace, Ezio," she said testily. "People sell wares and buy them. Business seems to be doing well, considering all the people coming and going. There's not much else to see here, is there?"

Her friend chuckled. "And that is where you would be wrong, _piccina_." He pointed with one hand at a stand in the distance. "Try to listen to them."

"How?! There's too much noise, and they're too far away!"

"Just strain your ears, _piccina_." He smirked at her. "You might just be surprised."

She rolled her eyes, but did as he told her, attempting to drown out the noise of the crowd of the noise around her and watching intently as she saw a well-dressed woman argue with the merchant.

"—_this…misgui…empt… joke, then…should…not amus…"_

"…_lady…don't think…funny eith…"_

And suddenly she could hear the two argue as if she was standing right next to them, shouting into her ear.

"—_lly!? Six sous for a pound of carrots? Are you trying to swindle me?!"_

The man shrugged his shoulders, not budging. _"The tolls to enter the city have gone up, apparently, and the roads aren't as safe as they used to be. Orcs and bandits, 'pparently. Hence, price's gone up."_

"_This is an outrage! This is twice as much as last month. You can't just—"_

"_Lady, for every harridan that comes to me complainin', I get four other folks who buy my wares because they're hungry. Now, are you gonna keep whinin', or are you goin' to buy something? Because you're holdin' up the queue." _

The woman grumbled under her breath and fumbled about in her purse, but Louise violently shook her head when the dull thrumming in her ears threatened to make them pop.

She rubbed her temples, glaring at Ezio. "What _was_ that?!" she hissed angrily.

"So you _do_ have the skill," he said quietly, more to himself than her. _"Come è affascinante…"_

"Ezio, do you mind—"

"Try to listen to those fellows, Louise," he interrupted her, pointing at a group of men. "Just do what you did before, _va bene_?"

She shot him a venomous look, but tried to concentrate on the gaggle of men on the other side of the marketplace, watching their arms flail about as they heatedly discussed something with one another. This time, it took far less time for their worried whispers to be heard over the noise of the marketplace.

"—_you hear what I told you?! The Academy was attacked! In broad daylight and while the princess was visiting, no less!" _

"_And the Musketeers couldn't do anything? Bah, that little girl was a fool when she disbanded the noble guards, I tell you. Who the hell talked her into that, by the way?"_

"_Founder, if they nearly couldn't protect her… Who is going to protect the kingdom, then?"_

A derisive snort came from one of the men. _"It sure as hell isn't going to be her, mate. B'sides, it's not as if she has anything to say about ruling this damned country in the first place. It's all in that blasted cardinal's hands, clever foreign bastard that he is, and his noble pals." _

"_It can't be that bad—"_

"_Founder's Blood, are you _really_ that stupid?!"_ the other hissed, throwing up his arms angrily. _"World just ain't a safe place anymore! There's rebels in Albion tearing the country apart, our king's as dead as a doornail with the noble bastards fighting over the spoils, and our princess is a little girl that listens to the pope's bootlicker! How the hell can this possibly get any worse, huh?!" _

"_So what then? What do you plan on doing?"_

The man deflated, shrugging tiredly. _"Keep our heads down and hope our homes don't burn down when the nobles start setting the world on fire. What else can us common folks do, after all?" _

There was grumbling and more harsh whispers, but the deep thrumming in Louise's ears forced her to tear her ears from the conversation. She shook her head once or twice, glancing at Ezio. The Assassin looked impassive, merely pointing to the façade of a shop on the far corner of the marketplace.

She followed his eyes, seeing a man with nails stuck in his mouth hammering a large board across his doorframe, a woman tightly holding a child's hand standing next to him.

Louise concentrated again, letting the noise wash over her like a wave of the sea, and then she could hear their voices, too.

"—_we really have to go?"_ the child asked plaintively. _"I liked it here! I'll miss my friends!"_

"_Sorry, son,"_ the man mumbled, taking out another nail and adjusting the board. "There's just no business for a jeweller here anymore."

The woman shot him an angry look. _"This is all your fault!"_ she hissed venomously. _"I had to sell my family's dowry to cover your debts! And now I have to leave my home!? Mother was right about you, Founder bless her soul! You are a failure!"_

The man's shoulders sagged, and he turned a miserable grimace towards her. _"Honey, please—"_

"_Don't you dare 'honey' me! It is your fault! All because you were a failure as a businessman!" _

"_Dear, would you—"_

"_But nooo, you had to expand your business, you had to sell more gems. Founder, if I'd known how it would end up with you—"_

"_Dear, please shut up for just a damned minute, would you?!"_

The woman's jaw snapped shut, staring at her husband in something akin to surprise, but her mouth soon became set in a thin line. The man lowered his eyes, shook his head, and sighed.

"_I'm sorry for yelling at you,"_ he said quietly. _"But there's nothing here for us anymore. Trade has stopped; my clients have lost their money… No one wants to buy jewellery these days, they only care to pawn it."_

Her eyes narrowed. _"And?"_

He set the hammer down and reached out, taking her free hand into both of his own. _"Let's go someplace else,"_ he said quietly. _"Gallia. The country is rich, and the nobles at court will pay fortunes for their gleaming baubles."_

Her expression became chagrined. _"I don't know, Jacob… It's so far away, and the people will be strange and foreign, and—"_

"_Remember when we met?" _the man said desperately, peering into her eyes. "_When I was still travelling with that caravan? You begged me to take you away from your home, to take you around the world."_

A faint, wistful smile crinkled her eyes_. "I remember. Father absolutely _hated_ you."_ The smile disappeared, aging her. _"But that was a long time ago, Jacob."_

"_It's not too late,"_ he said earnestly, raising her hands to gently kiss her fingers. _"Let's go to Gallia. They say Lutèce's streets are paved with gold; we'll be sure to make our fortune there! And I'll finally be able to take you on that voyage I promised you."_

The woman looked down when the little boy tugged on her hand. "Maman," he said quietly. "Don't fight. Don't you love each other?"

She startled, opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut again and smiled. "Yes," she murmured, nearly inaudible to Louise's ears. She picked up her child, kissing the top of its head fondly. "Yes, we do."

Her eyes darted to her husband, who smiled cautiously at her. "Let's go to Gallia, then," she said, smiling. "We might just find something new."

"Something better," he agreed, smiling back with relief. "I promise."

She just shook her head and laughed, and Louise snapped her eyes, tearing herself away from the happy family. Her head snapped to Ezio, who was studying the comings and goings around him with a blank look on his face.

Anger bubbled up at him inside of her. He was always like this. He would tell her to do something without telling her _why_, and she was growing sick of it. It was patronizing.

"Ezio," she hissed at him, "what's the point of doing this?!"

"Look around you, _piccina_," he said quietly. "When you told me of this city's history, you said it was rich. That it was prosperous. That its people were happy. And when you glanced at its colourful trappings, the first layer, that all may well appear to be true. But then you look deeper, listen to the whispers spoken in corners, peer into its shadows… You might find that the truth is very different."

Louise let her eyes wander across the marketplace again, and she saw things that she hadn't spotted before. The number of beggars; men, women pleading desperately for coins, and altogether receiving very little as passersby strode past them without a second glance. The shops that were closed and boarded up, the empty stores and thinned-out shelves on the market stands. The people arguing with the merchants about rising prices. The little gaggles of citizens in their corners whispering fearfully about the nobles, their princess, the troubles in foreign countries and the Holy Church; the men and women exchanging scowling looks and muttering with discontent under their breath as a patrol of city guards made its way through the crowd.

"Does that look like a prosperous, happy city to you, Louise?" Ezio said quietly as one of the city's watchmen barked at the citizens to make way, men and women recoiling in fear. "Because it certainly does not appear that way to me."

"Well… Perhaps… I'm sure it'll pass, once Her Highness begins to rule!" she said stubbornly.

"Perhaps," Ezio agreed, getting to his feet. "Or perhaps it will only get worse. Revolutions have been started by less, after all."

Louise wanted to contradict him, but found that she couldn't. She liked reading history books of all kinds, after all, and stories of riots and rebellions abounded everywhere.

"What now, though?" she asked Ezio as he pushed his way through the crowd, wanting to think of something else. "Weren't we going to look for this Roberto fellow that Fouquet worked with?"

"_È vero_," Ezio said pensively. "Now, to find his hideaway… _Perdonatemi, bella madonna_," he said grandly to a young woman, bowing elegantly and smiling.

She smiled back, flushing a bit when she looked him in the eyes. "Er, yes?"

"I am a stranger to this beautiful city, and I seem to have unfortunately lost my way." Ezio grinned, chuckling as if in embarrassment. "But I am sure that a young lady like yourself knows her way around this city, far more than a fool like me does!"

Louise drew her cowl over her brow, rolling her eyes.

"That's not surprising," the young woman said, smiling back. "The city is big, after all. What are you looking for, cher monsieur?"

"An inn, apparently. A place called… _'L'Auberge des Fées Charmantes'_, I think? Did I pronounce it right?"

The girl flushed a deeper red and then slapped him across the cheek. Before Ezio could recover, she ran past him without looking back.

He blinked once, gingerly working his jaw. "…I am not sure I deserved that."

"Payback for something in your past life?" Louise suggested wryly.

Derflinger cackled. "Keep talking to the girls around here like that, partner, and all their husbands will do far worse to you!"

"_Tranquillo_, the two of you." Ezio let his hand drop from his flaming cheek, smirking. "Well, at least we now know what to look for!"

"Oh, and where would that be?" Louise said, rolling her eyes.

"From the way that poor girl looked? I would wager ten écu that the Charming Fairies' Inn is a brothel, or something of similar disrepute."

Louise gave him a flat look. "You can't possibly have figured that out by getting slapped once."

"You would be surprised."

"Nonsense. I don't believe you."

"Ten écu, Louise!" Ezio called over his shoulder as he walked ahead, laughing. "Or are you scared that I might just be right, _piccina_?"

She hurried after him, scowling all the while at his back. "Deal!"

…

Ezio held out his hand, smirking.

Louise glared at him. "You haven't won this bet yet, Ezio. We haven't seen proof that this place is really a brothel."

"Oh, sure we haven't," Derflinger drawled from Ezio's belt, cackling out a tinny laugh. "What was the term that all those fellas used, partner? 'Recreational establishment'? Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"Prostitution is illegal here, _apparentemente_," Ezio said cheerfully. "I am quite sure that calling it a different name makes the guards look the other way. As long as they are paid enough, of course."

"Well, it's still a mighty fancy word for a whorehouse, that's all I'm saying!" Derflinger mused aloud. "Back in the day, we used to call 'em brothels, or funhouses, or bordellos, or nunneries—"

"Nunneries?!" Louise said, aghast.

"Oh, there's a really funny story behind _that_ name. Wanna hear it?"

"No!"

"Perhaps later," Ezio told the miffed sword, giving it a consoling pat on the pommel. "We have some questions to ask, first."

"Fine," Derflinger muttered under its nonexistent breath. "I'll make the lot of you listen to some glorious history later. Uneducated peons, that's what you are."

"And you are an irritating pain in the neck!" Louise shot back heatedly.

"Play nice, children," Ezio chided them with a smile. "Avoiding any attention in there would be quite welcome, no?"

Louise scowled and snapped her mouth shut, Derflinger shaking in its sheath with hidden amusement as they made their way through the inn's patrons milling outside the door.

The Charming Fairies' Inn was surprisingly famous in the city – or infamous, depending on who they asked. It had been surprisingly easy to find someone to point out the way to it (after Ezio had been slapped a few more times, unfortunately). Located in-between the city's docks on the river banks and its market district, the inn was a large, whitewashed building, three stories high with a pretty blue roof and charming baroque stucco decorations that were the newest fashion from Gallia. In the darkness of the night, its warmly lit windows and the muffled laughter and music sounding out from it made it seem inviting and friendly.

That innocent impression ended very quickly once Louise took her eyes from the building and studied the people standing outside the door. Gaggles of men and women thronged outside, chatting and laughing, and Louise's eyes nearly popped out of her skull when she saw the state of the women's dresses – with those décolletés and high hemlines on their colourful dresses, they made Kirche look positively decent! And the way those men sidled up to them, talked and muttered into their ears as the girls laughed, and even _nuzzled_ them was—

She quickly stepped a bit closer to Ezio, reassured by his presence as he gently pushed his way through the crowd. Those girls were young, easily as young as herself, and those men scared her. He shot her a glance, but said nothing as he pushed open the door.

She blinked at the sudden light and noise of laughter, shouted conversation, and music washing over her, and found herself in something that looked like a ballroom. A set of stairs opposite the entrance led up onto the next floor, more of those girls and women she'd seen outside chatting with some of the guests on the landing. Tables were scattered across the room, serving girls in those same indecent dresses running to and fro taking the orders of the customers, bringing beer, wine, and other drinks from the bar located at the right-hand wall of the establishment. In the far left corner, a crude wooden stage had been raised, and a few musicians were stuck on it, playing the lute, fife, and fiddle for the amusement of the guests.

The patrons shouted for drinks, the girls laughed as they brought said drinks, chatted with their guests and shrieked when they got a bit too frisky, and the music pitched in to make even the loudest conversations difficult to hear. It was bedlam.

Ezio grinned under his cowl. "Looks like a brothel to me," he muttered. "I have seen my fair share of them, you know."

Louise glared daggers at him. "Shut up. It might just be an inn with pretty serving girls."

One of the indecently dressed girls grabbed one of the men and dragged him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt, slamming the door of a room on the second floor behind them, the whoops, wolf-whistles and laughter of the man's companions at the table following them.

Ezio turned towards her with a raised eyebrow. "You were saying?"

Louise met his gaze with her nose high in the air. "Coincidence."

Ezio laughed at her audacity. "Of course, _madamigella_," he agreed, shaking his head. "All just coincidence."

"Hehehehe…" Derflinger cackled as a waitress passed them with a tray full of beer kegs, smiling coquettishly at Ezio. "Now, those are some beautiful bodies on those girls over there, oh yes, definitely…"

Louise felt the beginnings of a migraine again and decided to ignore the insanity travelling alongside her before she snapped. "Weren't we here for something important?!" she pleaded.

"Of course we were," Ezio agreed solemnly. "The beauty of the female form is always important, after all."

Her eyebrow twitched, but she caught the twinkle in her familiar's eye. She took a deep breath, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her drop her face into her palm again. "Let's just go," she muttered under her breath, motioning helplessly towards the bar. Ezio just walked ahead of her with a chuckle, skillfully weaving his way through the patrons thronging the bar.

"_Scusatemi!"_ Ezio called out, rapping his knuckles on the wooden top of the bar and waving at one of the waitresses with his other. "_Scusatemi, signorine!_ Would it be possibly to ord—"

"Coming, coming!" a harried voice sang out, and one of the girls came to a screeching halt behind the bar. "Don't leave yet!"

She was a pretty girl with dark hair bound under a simple linen headdress, wearing a pretty green dress that did nothing at all to hide the pendant dangling inside her cleavage. She couldn't have been much older than Louise, and yet her figure was already the kind that men would fight over.

She ran a hand across her forehead, sighing and smiling at them, dark eyes sparkling with good humour. "Sorry, sorry, but we're so busy tonight! Far more guests than usual!"

Ezio laughed. "That's fine."

"Jessica, at your service!" She suddenly frowned. "Why haven't you been seated yet? Where is Marlène?" She craned her neck, cursing under here breath when she spotted a shapely blond waitress flirt shamelessly with one of the customers. "Oh, I'm going to murder her… Sorry, she's supposed to seat new patrons; it makes the whole thing less confusing! Do you want a table, or something to eat?"

"_Grazie_, but that won't be necess—"

"Just a drink, then? What can I bring the two of you?"

"Oh, for Founder's sake," Louise muttered, rolling her eyes. "We're not here to eat or drink."

Jessica's eyes snapped from Ezio to her, and her smile faltered a bit at the smaller girl's scowl. "Er… I'm sorry, but we're not looking for any more workers; our rooms are all already let, and we have a habit of not taking in unknown courtesans…"

Louise's eyes darkened and she opened her mouth to tell that big-chested moron where exactly she could stick her idea of becoming a courtesan, but Ezio held up a hand and gave Jessica his most charming smile. "She is not looking for work," he said quickly. "And neither am I. I am, however, looking for someone I was told I could find here."

Jessica's eyes became immediately guarded. "Oh? And who would that be?"

_'Now_,' Ezio thought as he leant over the bar, _'this is getting more and more interesting_.' "A man named Scarron. Do you know where to find him?"

"He's my father," she said promptly, glancing from Ezio to Louise with a frown. Her eyes darted to the weapons on their belts, and she edged away. "Why are you looking for him?"

"A mutual acquaintance of ours told me he could help me find a missing friend of mine," Ezio said quickly, smiling in a reassuring manner. "I mean him no harm."

Jessica relaxed, though she still looked suspicious. "Really?"

"_Lo giuro_," Ezio promised with a smile, placing both his hands on the table where she could see them. It wouldn't stop an Assassin, but the girl didn't need to know that.

"Alright," she said uncertainly, before turning around to shout. "Papa! There's someone here looking for you!"

"Who is it, ma chérie?" a high-pitched voice wafted back.

Jessica's expression grew dubious as she glanced at Ezio. "Someone who says he knows someone you know!"

"That doesn't narrow it down, ma petite! I am a popular fellow, you know!"

"Just come here, papa, please!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming, no need to get angry!" the voice sang out and approached around the bar towards them.

Whoever Ezio had expected when he heard Scarron's voice, it certainly hadn't been anyone like _him_. He was easily taller than Ezio, if only by an inch or two, but twice as wide, his barrel-like chest stuck in a sleeveless shirt that showed his tanned arms rippling with muscles. An extensively groomed mustache and goatee framed a cheerfully smiling mouth, and as he skipped towards them (yes, _skipped_), Ezio wondered whether a sight like this was normal in these parts.

He glanced at Louise, whose jaw had dropped open and who stared at the newcomer with undisguised horror plastered all over her face. Apparently, it wasn't.

"Monsieur, mademoiselle!" the man said cheerfully, making a curtsy before them. "Good day to you! What can I do for you on this fine evening?"

"…Are you _Messer_ Scarron?" Ezio asked cautiously, and hoping he would answer no.

The man looked offended. "Ah, non! Non, non! I am not Monsieur Scarron!"

Louise sighed a breath of relief.

"I am _Mademoiselle_ Scarron!"

Louise's forehead smacked down onto the top of the bar with a groan. "Why can't I ever meet _normal_ people?!" she whimpered. "First Kirche and Tabitha, then you, then Fouquet, and now _this_ lunatic…"

Ezio patted her shoulder. "It may not be any consolation, but I thought the same thing when I met you."

"You're not helping!"

Ezio looked up to see Scarron look rather put out and Jessica surveying the scene with undisguised amusement. He would bet any sum of money that he and Louise weren't the first unsuspecting visitors to be waylaid by the owner's unusual taste and mannerisms.

"Please excuse my companion," Ezio said with a grin. "She has had a tiring day."

"Oh, poor dear," Scarron said with motherly concern in his tone. "Is there anything we can do?"

"There is, _in effetti_," Ezio said quickly, leaning over the bar top and motioning Scarron to come closer. The man did so, intrigued, and Louise looked up to listen in. "I am looking for a man named Roberto."

Scarron laughed, a high-pitched giggle that somehow seemed more feigned than the others. "Oh, but there are many Robertos in this city! Why, there's one on Rue des Aragons, a whole family of them at the Quai de Conti, another on—"

"I think we both know the one I mean," Ezio said sharply, reaching into his collar and bringing out Matilda's silver pendant. It gleamed in the light of the chandelier, and Scarron's face paled. "Does this narrow down your acquaintances, _madamigella_?"

Scarron's shoulders slumped, and he licked his lips, glancing worriedly from left to right. "…I know which Roberto you want to talk to, Monsieur. But you simply won't be able to."

"Are you trying to stop me?" Ezio asked lowly, his voice growing dangerous.

"No! No, I am not. But Roberto is a ghost, Monsieur. The kind that cannot be found if he refuses to be found." Scarron broke eye contact, his dark eyes peering fearfully into the crowd of patrons around him. His voice grew even quieter, and Ezio strained to hear him. "He has eyes and ears everywhere, and they report everything to him. The nobles have been trying to catch him for years, but they have all failed!"

"I am no noble."

"Even worse!" Scarron hissed, his eyes desperate. "He's been murdering common bounty hunters and competitors in this city's underworld for years, and he's ruthless about anyone muscling in on his territory!"

"Just tell me where to look for him, then."

The landlord shook his head decisively. "No, I will not."

Ezio frowned and shifted slightly, the throwing knives in their leather sheaths creaking. "_Prego?_" he growled, tensing.

"I will not help you," Scarron repeated firmly, his eyes set. "I have a shop that is running well, without the guards bothering me. I have a home. But most importantly, I have a daughter and many other girls I have to take care of. I shan't risk them getting killed just so you can chase after a ghost."

Ezio stared him in the eye, but Scarron didn't flinch. Ezio looked away first, glancing at Jessica. She had listened to everything, her eyes wide and worried, and he realized once again that she was still a young girl. Most of the women living under Scarron's roof would probably be helpless without him.

Louise opened her mouth to argue, but Ezio placed a hand on her shoulder and silently shook his head. "Have a good evening, _madamigelle_," he said, politely inclining his head. "We will not bother you again."

Scarron nearly deflated with relief, frantically nodding his thanks, and Jessica smiled.

"But Ezio—" Louise began to protest, but Ezio cut her off.

"These are honest, hard-working people, Louise," he murmured. "Do you want to hurt them just to reach your goal? To impress your _principessa_?"

She scowled, but turned around when he nudged her. Ezio smiled, glad that he hadn't misjudged his little mistress.

His smile turned to a frown as he steered his small friend back towards the door, wondering how on earth they were going to find this Roberto fellow now. He was the missing link between Fouquet, the attack on the Academy, and this 'Reconquista' group that Matilda had mentioned, he was sure of it. But how to get to—

He stumbled into someone, and was roughly pushed away. "Watch where ye're goin', pal!"

"_Mi scusi_," Ezio muttered, righting his step and coolly considering the man who had just pushed him. He looked like a common drunkard, all thuggish brawn and little intelligence. "I was lost in thought."

"Well, ye should be careful not to get lost anywhere else, then," the man muttered, glowering. He leered at Louise, who shrank back before him, and began to finger the hilt of a dagger in his belt. "Especially if you go aroun' asking all sorts o' questions, like ye did with the landlord back there… Dangerous questions, that's wot they are… Might just get a nosy lad and lass all cut up and bloody…"

For a moment, Ezio just stared as the man continued to ramble threateningly. Only a few weeks ago, he had narrowly escaped what he though was certain death. He had been dragged to an alien world against his will. He had accepted a partnership with an insecure little girl desperate for acceptance and friendship. He had been swindled, tricked, adrift in an unfamiliar world. He had witnessed the deaths of countless innocents; all of them butchered in the name of shadowy, faceless manipulators, and had nearly been killed again. And he was now as far away from solving the mystery behind it as he had been at the very beginning of this journey.

And now someone had dared to threaten Louise, taunting him with his failure.

At that exact moment, Ezio's frustrations of the past few weeks boiled over, and they did so violently.

He leapt forward, grabbing the thug by his neck and stunning him with a headbutt. He dragged the man's head down, and there was a dull crash as knee met face, lifting the man clear off his feet into the air and sending him flying onto a table, scattering mugs and plates.

The entirety of the Charming Fairies' Inn grew deathly quiet as everyone stared at the man, now writhing insensibly and moaning in pain. Ezio turned his head, glaring challengingly.

And then the fallen man's friends at the upturned table and a few others stood up, murder in their eyes, and the regular patrons and waitresses fought to get out of the way as the men slowly encircled Louise and Ezio.

The Assassin flexed his gauntleted fingers and smiled.

…

Louise quickly turned her back on Ezio and edged closer to him, indistinctly remembering him telling her to always protect her back from unsuspecting attacks – doing so even as the rest of her rational mind began to gibber with fear as it registered the three dangerous-looking men appearing before her. Her mind faintly noted Jessica and Scarron witnessing the brewing debacle behind the bar, both looking horrified.

"…Ezio?!" she hissed out of the corner of her mouth when she saw the men draw daggers and short clubs. "What in Founder's name are we going to do now!?"

He chuckled. "What we do best."

"And that would be…?"

She heard the sharp crack of knuckles. "Improvising!"

And then there a dull thud as an armoured fist hit something that sounded decidedly _less_ armoured, and Louise heard a loud crash as someone flew through the air and cracked his skull against something wooden a moment later.

And then the closest thug facing her charged her with a snarl, wooden club raised high.

Louise yelped and ducked, the cudgel rushing through the space where her head had just been. She remembered Ezio's lessons, her body moving through the exercises fluidly: left leg rooted, right knee up, foot tensed, and lash out.

Heavy leather riding boots crushed testicles, and the thickset man let out a high-pitched shriek of pain, dropping his club and falling to his knees as he grasped at his crotch. Louise kicked him again, catching him under the chin and snapping his head backwards, and this time he fell onto his back and stayed there.

The little noble girl caught movement in the corner of her eye at just the right moment, stepping forward to avoid the dagger aimed at her side. Her arm snapped shut, catching the wrist in her armpit and trapping the blade. Her left foot kicked out against the side of the thinner man's knee, bringing him to the ground before her.

She hesitated for an instant as she saw the surprise and terror in his face, but instinct took over as he tried to grab for her throat. She slammed an open palm into his face, driving the heel of it against his nose. Blood splattered and he collapsed, clutching at his shattered face in disbelief, tears of pain running down his cheeks.

Louise stepped away, feeling disgusted as she tried to get rid of the blood on her hand. '_It's so easy_,' she thought, feeling sick.

She heard angry shouts and looked up to see one of the men surrounding her pick up a chair. She yelped as he threw it right at her, dodging behind a table, but two other thugs – one with a club and another with a dagger – moved to trap her against a wall.

"Little help, Ezio!" she yelled as the men approached and she backed away from them into a corner, the chair thrower having drawn a vicious-looking serrated cutlass and grinning in a decidedly unfriendly way.

"Don't kill them, _piccina_!"

"That's not exactly what I call help!" she shouted back, chancing a glance at the other side of the inn. Ezio had left a trail of broken tables, chairs, and bodies (the latter groaning and writhing on the ground) across the establishment, and was surrounded by a far larger group than she was.

Someone tried to grab him from behind, but he simply hurled the man over his shoulder and stomped on his crotch, fluidly turning on his heel with a simple half-step to avoid taking the full brunt of a bar stool slammed across his back. It broke apart, and Ezio swiftly disarmed the man of his stool leg, grabbed him by the collar, and sent him careening head-first into two of his companions, sending all three to the ground in a cursing tangle of limbs. All in less than three seconds.

"Catch!" he called out, throwing the chair leg across the room.

Remembering every single lesson in swordplay that Ezio had ever given her, she snatched it out of the air, adopting the stance he had drilled into her for weeks and weeks on end.

The lead thug twirled his cutlass and jeered, showing yellow and silver teeth. "Whatcha think ye're gonna do with that thing, little girl? Ain't no one here to protect yo—"

She lunged forwards, seizing the initiative by slamming the end of the stool leg into his stomach and driving the breath from his lungs. He staggered back, and her 'sword' snapped from left to right, delivering a nasty blow across his temple. He fell like a stone.

The other man snarled and charged at her, cudgel sweeping from the side at her head. She dimly remembered that Ezio had once told her that aiming for the head with no other plan was the sure sign of an unskilled brawler, even as she twisted her wrist. The blow landed on the inside of his elbow, making him drop his club. The follow-up broke his knee with a sharp crack, driving him to the floor to kneel before her.

The third blow crushed the man's throat, and he stared at her with wide eyes full of surprise as he fell sideways, gargling uselessly for breath, his chest heaving up and down and his lungs not getting any air.

Louise froze up as she watched him, panicking, and then she was bowled when an entire table was lifted and thrown at her, the heavy wooden planks burying her.

"You little bitch!" she heard the last man snarl, and he kicked against the fallen table, crushing her limbs and making her cry out in pain. "Ye're gonna pay for killing me mates, ye hear that?! Ye're gonna pa—"

There was the sound of struggling, muffled cursing, and a dry crack that sounded much like a musket shot. The pressure on the table disappeared.

She struggled, scrambling backwards on her behind to get free of the heavy table, and managed it a moment later. When Louise looked up, she saw Scarron gently lowering the last thug to the floor. The man's eyes were glassy and his neck askew, his arms hanging limply from his sides.

As Scarron closed the man's eyes with gentle fingers, she shuddered as she imagined those strong arms breaking a grown man's neck as easily as a twig.

She heard a garbled scream, and looked up to see Ezio bodily picking up a man by his belt and throat, lifting him up, and bringing him crashing down onto a table. It snapped in two, and the man moaned and lay still.

Ezio stood up straight, stretching his neck as he surveyed the room. Scattered around him in various stages of unconsciousness lay an easy dozen and a half of the thugs, their arms and knees broken, their noses shattered and bleeding, and those that still could were gasping for breath, writhing and moaning quietly in pain.

He wiped a hand across the corner of his mouth, flicking off the blood there with distaste. "Eighty seconds," he muttered, frowning under his hood. "I have grown slow."

There was a impressed whistle from Derflinger. "…Well, I'll be damned. I'll be _damned_. I thought you were good, but I never expected anything like _this_, partner, I'll admit that."

"What did you expect, then?"

"Not this, that's for sure." A rattling laugh. "Anyone ever tell you're a crazy bastard?"

Ezio grinned crookedly. "I shall take that as a compliment."

Louise just stared as Ezio picked his way through the destroyed furniture and broken men over to her. He was breathing slightly, the wound on the corner of his mouth had opened again, but he still looked utterly unperturbed by what had just happened.

He knelt next to her, smiling gently. "Are you alright, _piccina_?"

She tasted bile and quickly turned away so that she wouldn't vomit all over his knees.

"Ah," she heard him say as she hacked up the last of her dinner. She felt him gently reach past her cheeks for her hair, tucking it away at the back of her neck and gently caressing it. "The rush of battle is over. Don't be ashamed, _piccina_; it happens to everyone."

The world stopped spinning, and the touch of Ezio's fingers in her hair reassured her, bloodied as they were. A few moments later, the world stopped spinning and her vision cleared again.

"Feeling better?" Ezio asked her with a smile.

Louise nodded, allowing him to help her up so that she could stand on her wobbling knees. She glanced at the man whose throat she had crushed, and saw that his eyes dull and unseeing. She quickly looked away, seeing Scarron shake his head as he surveyed the destruction of his establishment.

"Madness," the landlord muttered. "Utter madness."

Ezio grinned at him. "You are not the first one to tell me that I am insane, _madamigella_."

Scarron shot him an aggravated look. "Clearly repetition does not improve your understanding of the message, hmm?"

Ezio shrugged cheerfully. "I understand the message well enough. I just refuse to let it bother me."

Scarron sighed. "This will be trouble…" He clapped his hands sharply, turning to his waitresses and the few patrons that hadn't already fled. "Mesdames et Messieurs! Unfortunately, we will have to close for tonight; my apologies! Allez, mes belles fées; time to clean up this unsightly mess! Un, deux, trois, et qu'ca saute!"

After offering a bit more encouragement, Jessica and the other girls began to escort out the last patrons and grabbed brooms and dustpans to clean up the broken glass and clay, shooting suspicious and fearful looks at Ezio and Louise as they went about their business.

Scarron turned back towards them, looking awkward and tired. "I am terribly sorry to inconvenience you," he said, bringing his hands together under his chin in a gesture of apology and shaking his hips, "but I will have to insist that you leave – you seem to attract unwelcome attention!"

Ezio nodded. "I understand." He unhooked his purse, throwing it at the surprised landlord. "For your damages."

The tanned man looked surprised as he inspected the pouch. "That is worth far more than replacing the furniture, monsieur!"

"…May I ask for a favour, then?"

Scarron looked wary. "That depends."

"If any of Roberto's thugs arrive, tell him that I have a message for him from Matilda. If he wants to hear it, all he has to do is find me and answer my questions." Ezio glanced at the number of injured men. "And if he gives you any grief about this scum, tell him that I was responsible for breaking them. And that if he wants to hurt you _or_ me, he should send more skilled fighters next."

"Scary…" Scarron said quietly. "And if Roberto asks for a name?"

"Tell him that Ezio Auditore wishes to speak to him," the Assassin said, nudging Louise towards the door.

"A strong name," Scarron said thoughtfully, putting his hands on his waist and frowning. "You are playing a _very_ dangerous game, Monsieur Ezio."

"That's quite alright," Ezio said, grinning at the landlord over his shoulder. "I am a very dangerous man."

And then they were out in the streets of the capital, the unlikely pair enjoying the cool night breeze and fresh air, the little girl breaking out into elated giggles when she realized how nervous she had been, the taller elder putting a comforting arm around her shoulder and laughing alongside her. The night swallowed them up soon enough.

…

At the same time, a coach pulled by four horses galloped through the darkened streets of the city, the jockey cracking the whip to drive the horses onward and only dragging on the reins when they stopped at a palatial merchant's estate.

The jockey jumped down, hammering on the door. "Open up! Open up, damn you, it's urgent!"

A few moments and incessant hammering later, the door was opened by a startled servant, who was immediately ordered to call his fellows and take care of stabling the horses. The head steward was called, and the man recognized the heraldry on the coach's door immediately, bowing deeply as it swung open. "A pleasure to have you here, sire."

A portly man with groomed hair and a pencil-thin moustache stepped out of the coach, directing an irritated look at the man. "I've had a rather long ride from my estate, so I hope you don't dally in quartering me."

"Of course, sire. Would you like supper? The master has already gone to bed, but I'm sure I can—"

"Hang it all, _wake him! _I have urgent news, grave news, news that concerns him personally! Get him up now!"

The head steward hurriedly bowed and backed away. "As you wish, Monsieur le Comte de Mott, as you wish…"

Richard de la Vague, Count de Mott, moved to follow him into the house, but glanced for a last time at the twins moons of the Halkeginian sky. He scowled. He had experienced far too many sleepless nights, recently. Far too many headaches.

He huffed and walked inside. If their plans worked out, then a lot of his worries would be abated, but so far…

"By all the Founder and His Saints, Richard! What possessed you to come here at this hour?!"

The count turned to see his benefactor and partner-in-crime, still wearing nightclothes and cap, and a mirthless smile crept up his mouth. "An emergency, old friend. What else could it be?"

"Well, it better be important for you to wake me at this hour—"

Mott told him, and the merchant paled whiter than the nightclothes he was wearing. He wrung his hands. "Oh, what a disaster… We'll have to talk to Monseigneur le Cardinal soon, it seems," the merchant muttered, looking annoyed and fearful at the same time. "Our plans might just fail…"

Mott rolled his eyes, walking over to the window and throwing the shutters open. They showed the Royal Palace in the distance, all proud elegance and weak decadence.

All ripe for the taking.

The Count smirked. "Oh, I _really_ cannot wait."

…

Well, this chapter is done. Next chapter, we will soon unravel the mystery behind Roberto, Matilda, Count Mott, and the Cardinal…

You didn't really think that I was going to leave Mott out of this, did you? He may be anime-only, but he is still one of the more interesting villains in the _Zero no Tsukaima_ franchise. Which says a lot about the franchise, incidentally, because if I remember correctly, he is defeated by Saito bribing him with a porn book to let Siesta go. Apparently, seeing a little bit of softcore pornography is… unusually enticing.

Which makes any half-decent student of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance laugh, because they were not as repressed when it comes to the whole 'sexing–each-other-up' business as later writings would like to have you believe. Rampant prostitution, proto-escort services in the forms of courtesans and rich noble ladies whoring themselves out to dukes and kings, lively clerical debates on which positions should be approved by the Church and which ones should be condemned, how often it should happen, etcetera.

Giving Mott a villainous role beyond 'can-be-bribed-by-naked-boobies' should be fun.

In case you don't mind, I have a few questions that I'd love to have answered in regards to this chapter. In case you want to leave me your usual free-form reviews, though, I'll be happy to read them!

…

_What did you think of the little 'prologue' at the beginning? Did it contribute to showing the difference between Ezio and Louise, or was it just wasted space to you?_

_What did you think of my description of the capital? _

_Any comments on the pickpocket chase?_

_Do you think I spent too much time introducing Derflinger and Théoleyre when I could have driven the plot forward? Did you think that the conversation in the shop felt natural, or did you think it was forced?_

_What did you think of Théoleyre as a character?_

_What did you think of me giving the characters various accents? Tiresome cliché that only makes reading the story more difficult, or does it make the characters and story seem more lifelike? Should I do it more, less, or stop it altogether?_

_How did you think I handled Louise's and Ezio's arguments and discussions? Am I wasting your time, or do you enjoy seeing them interact? And what do you think of me adding Derflinger to the mix?_

_Any comments on my reimagining the 'Charming Faieries' Inn'? What did you think of Scarron and Jessica?_

_And comments about the fight scene? Should I have focussed more on Ezio and less on Louise? Was it boring? Did it flow well? _

_Any comments on the overall plot?_

And, of course, any and all other comments on any other parts of the chapter are most welcome, no matter whether they're positive or critical. I'll listen to and consider them all.

…

TRANSLATIONS OF FOREIGN PHRASES — COMING SOON.

Sorry, folks, I'm rather knackered. Give me a day or two, and they'll be up.

…

The original light novels of Familiar of Zero (_Zero no Tsukaima_) were written by _Noboru Yamaguchi_, originally published by _Media Factory_ in 2004, and are still ongoing after twenty volumes and a four-season anime adaptation by _J.C. Staff_ that premiered in July 2006.

The original video game _Assassin's Creed_ was originally released in 2007 by _Ubisoft_, followed by its sequels _Assassin's Creed II_ (2009), _Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood_ (2010), _Assassin's Creed: Revelations_ (2011), and _Assassin's Creed III_ (October 2012). At the time of this writing (March 2013), _Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag_ is announced to be released before April 2014.

Again, please support the official release, and be kind enough to leave a review.


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